THE  EED  CITY 


*  SMeir 


Jftction. 

HUGH  WYNNE. 

CONSTANCE  TRESCOT. 

THE  YOUTH  OF  WASHINGTON. 

CIRCUMSTANCE. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  FRANCOIS. 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A*QUACK. 

DR.  NORTH  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

IN  WAR  TIME. 

ROLAND  BLAKE. 

FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

CHARACTERISTICS. 

WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

A  MADEIRA  PARTY. 

THE  RED  CITY. 


DOCTOR  AND  PATIENT. 
WEAR  AND  TEAR  —  HINTS  FOR  THE 
OVERWORKED. 


COLLECTED  POEMS. 

THE  WAGER,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


•'/She. stood  still,  amazed" 


THE  RED  CITY 


A  NOVEL   OF  THE 

SECOND   ADMINISTRATION  OF 

PRESIDENT    WASHINGTON 


BY 


S.  WEIR  MITCHELL,  M.D.,  LL.D, 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO, 

1908 


Copyright,  1907,  1908,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  October,  1908 


THE  DE  VINNE   PRE68 


I 


TO 
WM.  D.  HOWELLS 

IN  PAYMENT  OF  A  DEBT  LONG  OWED 

TO  A  MASTER  OF  FICTION  AND  TO 

A  FRIEND  OF  MANY  YEARS 


O,/! 


915 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

She  stood  still,  amazed Frontispiece 

PAGE 

As  they  struck,  he  called  out,  "  Yvonne !  "  .     .     .     .     13 

With  a  quick  movement  she  threw  the  big  stallion  in 
front  of  ^a  Ira 69 

"  Well  played!  "  cried  Schmidt-"the  jest  and  the  ra 
pier"       113 

"  Thou  canst  not  shoe  my  conscience" 153 

Rene  struggled  in  Schmidt's  arms,  wild  with  rage     .  247 

She  threw  the  fairy  tissue  about  Pearl's  head,  smiling 
as  she  considered  the  effect 289 

"  I  know,  I  know,  but—  " 337 

"  Then  I  beg  to  resign  my  position  " 367 

"  Not  to-day,  children,  not  to-day  " 409 


THE  RED  CITY 


THE  RED  CITY 

A  NOVEL  OF  THE  SECOND  ADMINISTRATION 
OF  WASHINGTON 


LBOUT  five  in  the  afternoon  on  the  23d  of  May, 
1792,  the  brig  Morning  Star  of  Bristol,  John 
Maynard,  master,  with  a  topgallant  breeze  after  her, 
ran  into  Delaware  Bay  in  mid-channel  between  Cape 
May  and  Cape  Henlopen.  Here  was  the  only  sun 
shine  they  had  seen  in  three  weeks.  The  captain,  li 
king  the  warmth  on  his  broad  back,  glanced  up  ap 
provingly  at  mast  and  rigging.  *  *  She  '&  a  good  one, ' ' 
he  said,  and  noting  the  ship  powdered  white  with  her 
salt  record  of  the  sea's  attentions,  he  lighted  a  pipe 
and  said  aloud,  *  *  She  's  salted  like  Christmas  pork. ' ' 
As  he  spoke,  he  cast  an  approving  eye  on  a  young  fel 
low  who  sat  at  ease  in  the  lower  rigging,  laughing  as 
the  brig  rolled  over  and  a  deluge  of  water  flushed  the 
deck  and  made  the  skipper  on  the  after-hatch  lift  his 
feet  out  of  the  way  of  the  wash. 

"Hi,  there,  Wicount,"  called  the  captain,  "she  's 
enjoying  of  herself  like  a  young  duck  in  a  pond." 

De  Courval  called  out  a  gay  reply,  lost,  as  the  ship 

3 


4  THE  RED  CITY 

rolled,  in  the  ratilo  of  storm-loosened  stays  and  the 
clatter  of  flapping  sails. 

Toward  sunset  the  wind  lessened,  the  sea-born  bil 
lows  fell  away,  and  De  Courval  dropped  lightly  on 
the  deck,  and,  passing  the  master,  went  down  to  the 
cabin. 

Near  to  dusk  of  this  pleasant  evening  of  May  the 
captain  anchored  off  Lewes,  ordered  a  boat  sent 
ashore,  and  a  nip  of  rum  all  round  for  the  crew. 
Then,  with  a  glass  for  himself,  he  lighted  his  pipe 
and  sat  down  on  the  cover  of  the  companionway  and 
drew  the  long  breath  of  the  victor  in  a  six-weeks7 
fight  with  the  Atlantic  in  its  most  vicious  mood.  For 
an  hour  he  sat  still,  a  well-contented  man ;  then, 
aware  of  a  curly  head  and  bronzed  young  face  rising 
out  of  the  companionway  beside  him,  he  said,  "You 
might  find  that  coil  of  rope  comfortable. ' ' 

The  young  man,  smiling  as  he  sat  down,  accepted 
the  offer  of  the  captain's  tobacco  and  said  in  easy 
English,  with  scarce  a  trace  of  accent  to  betray  his 
French  origin :  "My  mother  thanks  you,  sir,  for  your 
constant  care  of  her.  I  have  no  need  to  repeat  my 
own  thanks.  We  unhappy  emigres  who  have  worn 
out  the  hospitality  of  England,  and  no  wonder,  find 
kindness  such  as  yours  as  pleasant  as  it  is  rare.  My 
mother  fully  realizes  what  you  have  given  us  amid 
all  your  cares  for  the  ship— and—  " 

' '  Oh,  that  '&  all  right,  Wicount, ' '  broke  in  the  cap 
tain.  ' '  My  time  for  needing  help  and  a  cheery  word 
may  come  any  day  on  land  or  sea.  Some  one  will  pay 
what  seems  to  you  a  debt. ' ' 

"Ah,  well,  here  or  hereafter,"  said  the  young  man, 


THE  EED  CITY  •  5 

gravely,  and  putting  out  a  hand,  he  wrung  the  broad, 
hairy  paw  of  the  sailor.  "My  mother  will  come  on 
deck  to-morrow  and  speak  for  herself.  Now  she  must 
rest.  Is  that  our  boat  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes ;  I  sent  it  ashore  a  while  ago.  There  will  be 
milk  and  eggs  and  fresh  vegetables  for  madam. ' ' 

' '  Thank  you, ' '  said  De  Courval.  A  slight,  full  feel 
ing  in  the  throat,  a  little  difficulty  in  controlling  his 
features,  betrayed  the  long  strain  of  much  recent 
peril  and  a  sense  of  practical  kindness  the  more 
grateful  for  memories  of.  bitter  days  in  England  and 
of  far-away  tragic  days  in  France.  With  some  effort 
to  suppress  emotion,  he  touched  the  captain's  knee, 
saying,  "Ah,  my  mother  will  enjoy  the  fresh  food." 
And  then,  "What  land  is  that?" 

"Lewes,  sir,  and  the  sand-dunes.  With  the  flood 
and  a  fair  wind,  we  shall  be  off  Chester  by  evening 
to-morrow.  No  night  sailing  for  me  on  this  bay,  with 
never  a  light  beyond  Henlopen,  and  that  's  been 
there  since  '65.  I  know  it  all  in  daytime  like  I  know 
my  hand.  Most  usually  we  bide  for  the  flood.  I 
shall  be  right  sorry  to  part  with  you.  I  've  had  time 
and  again— Frenchies ;  I  never  took  to  them  greatly, 
—but  you  're  about  half  English.  Why,  you  talk 
'most  as  well  as  me.  Where  did  you  learn  to  be  so 
handy  with  it  ? "  De  Courval  smiled  at  this  doubtful 
compliment. 

' '  When  my  father  was  attached  to  our  embassy  in 
London,— that  was  when  I  was  a  lad, — I  went  to  an 
English  school,  and  then,  too,  we  were  some  months 
in  England,  my  mother  and  I,  so  I  speak  it  fairly 
well.  My  mother  never  would  learn  it." 


6  THE  BED  CITY 

' '  Fairly  well !    Guess  you  do. ' ' 

Then  the  talk  fell  away,  and  at  last  the  younger 
man  rose  and  said,  "I  shall  go  to  bed  early,  for  I 
want  to  be  up  at  dawn  to  see  this  great  river. ' ' 

At  morning,  with  a  fair  wind  and  the  flood,  the 
Morning  Star  moved  up  the  stream,  past  the  spire 
and  houses  of  Newcastle.  De  Courval  watched  with 
a  glass  the  green  country,  good  for  fruit,  and  the 
hedges  in  place  of  fences.  He  saw  the  low  hills  of 
Delaware,  the  flat  sands  of  Jersey  far  to  right,  and 
toward  sunset  of  a  cloudless  May  day  heard  the  clat 
ter  of  the  anchor  chain  as  they  came  to  off  Chester 
Creek.  The  mother  was  better,  and  would  be  glad  to 
take  her  supper  on  deck,  as  the  captain  desired. 
During  the  day  young  De  Courval  asked  numberless 
questions  of  mates  and  men,  happy  in  his  mother's 
revival,  and  busy  with  the  hopes  and  anxieties  of  a 
stranger  about  to  accept  life  in  a  land  altogether  new 
to  him,  but  troubled  with  unanswerable  doubts  as  to 
how  his  mother  would  bear  an  existence  under  con 
ditions  of  which  as  yet  neither  he  nor  she  had  any 
useful  knowledge. 

When  at  sunset  he  brought  his  mother  on  deck,  she 
looked  about  her  with  pleasure.  The  ship  rode  mo 
tionless  on  a  faintly  rippled  plain  of  orange  light. 
They  were  alone  on  this  great  highway  to  the  sea. 
To  the  left  near  by  were  the  clustered  houses  on 
creek  and  shore  where  Dutch,  Swede,  and  English 
had  ruled  in  turn.  There  were  lads  in  boats  fishing, 
with  cries  of  mock  fear  and  laughter  over  the  catch 
of  crabs.  It  seemed  to  her  a  deliciously  abrupt 
change  from  the  dark  cabin  and  the  ship  odors  to  a 


THE  EED  CITY  7 

pretty,  smiling  coast,  with  the  smoke  pennons  of  hos 
pitable  welcome  inviting  to  enter  and  share  what 
God  had  so  freely  given. 

A  white-cloth-covered  table  was  set  out  on  deck 
with  tea-things,  strawberries,  and  red  roses  the 
mate  had  gathered.  As  she  turned,  to  thank  the  cap 
tain  who  had  come  aft  to  meet  her,  he  saw  his  passen 
ger  for  the  first  time.  At  Bristol  she  had  come 
aboard  at  evening  and  through  a  voyage  of  storms 
she  had  remained  in  her  cabin,  too  ill  to  do  more  than 
think  of  a  hapless  past  and  of  a  future  dark  with  she 
knew  not  what  new  disasters. 

What  he  saw  was  a  tall,  slight  woman  whose  snow- 
white  hair  made  more  noticeable  the  nearly  complete 
black  of  her  widow 's  dress,  relieved  only  by  a  white 
collar,  full  white  wrist  ruffles,  and  a  simple  silver 
chatelaine  from  which  hung  a  bunch  of  keys  and  a 
small  enameled  watch.  At  present  she  was  sallow 
and  pale,  but,  except  for  somewhat  too  notable  regu 
larity  of  rather  pronounced  features,  the  most  ob 
servant  student  of  expression  could  have  seen  no 
more  in  her  face  at  the  moment  than  an  indefinable 
stamp  of  good  breeding  and  perhaps,  on  larger  op 
portunity,  an  unusual  incapacity  to  exhibit  emo 
tional  states,  whether  of  grief,  joy,  or  the  lighter 
humors  of  e very-day  social  relation. 

The  captain  listened  with  a  pleasure  he  could  not 
have  explained  as  her  voice  expressed  in  beautiful 
French  the  happiness  of  which  her  face  reported  no 
signal.  The  son  gaily  translated  or  laughed  as  now 
and  then  she  tried  at  a  phrase  or  two  of  the  little 
English  picked  up  during  her  stay  in  England. 


8  THE  EED  CITY 

When  they  had  finished  their  supper,  young  De 
Courval  asked  if  she  were  tired  and  would  wish  to 
go  below.  To  his  surprise  she  said :  * '  No,  Rene.  We 
are  to-morrow  to  be  in  a  new  country,  and  it  is  well 
that  as  far  as  may  be  we  settle  our  accounts  with 
the  past." 

"Well,  mother,  what  is  it?    What  do  you  wish?" 

"Let  us  sit  down  together.  Yes,  here.  I  have 
something  to  ask.  Since  you  came  back  to  Nor 
mandy  in  the  autumn  of  1791  with  the  news  of  your 
father's  murder,  I  have  asked  for  no  particulars." 

' '  No,  and  I  was  glad  that  you  did  not. ' ' 

"Later,  my  son,  I  was  no  more  willing  to  hear, 
and  even  after  our  ruin  and  flight  to  England  last 
January,  my  grief  left  me  no  desire  to  be  doubly 
pained.  But  now— now,  I  have  felt  that  even  at 
much  cost  I  should  hear  it  all,  and  then  forever, 
with  God's  help,  put  it  away  with  the  past,  as  you 
must  try  to  do.  His  death  was  the  more  sad  to  me 
because  all  his  sympathies  were  with  the  party  bent 
on  ruining  our  country.  Ah,  Rene,  could  he  have 
guessed  that  he  who  hnd  such  hopeful  belief  in 
what  those  changes  would  effect  should  die  by  the 
hand  of  a  Jacobin  mob!  I  wish  now  to  hear  the 
whole  story." 

"All  of  it,  mother?"    He  was  deeply  troubled. 

"Yes,  all — all  without  reserve." 

She  sat  back  in  her  chair,  gazing  up  the  darken 
ing  river,  her  hands  lying  supine  on  her  knees.  ' '  Go 
on,  my  son,  and  do  not  make  me  question  you." 

"Yes,  mother."  There  were  things  he  had  been 
glad  to  forget  and  some  he  had  set  himself  never  to 


THE  BED  CITY  9 

forget.  He  knew,  however,  that  now,  on  the  whole, 
it  was  better  to  be  frank.  He  sat  still,  thinking  how 
best  he  could  answer  her.  Understanding  the  re 
luctance  his  silence  expressed,  she  said,  "You  will, 
Rene?" 

"Yes,  dear  mother";  and  so  on  the  deck  at  fall 
of  night,  in  an  alien  land,  the  young  man  told  his 
story  of  one  of  the  first  of  the  minor  tragedies 
which,  as  a  Jacobin  said,  were  useless  except  to  give 
a  good  appetite  for  blood. 

It  was  hard  to  begin.  He  had  in  perfection  the 
memory  of  things  seen,  the  visualizing  capacity. 
He  waited,  thinking  how  to  spare  her  that  which  at 
her  summons  was  before  him  in  all  the  distinctness 
of  an  hour  of  unequaled  anguish. 

She  felt  for  him  and  knew  the  pain  she  was  giv 
ing,  comprehending  him  with  a  fullness  rare  to  the 
mother  mind.  "This  is  not  a  time  to  spare  me," 
she  said,  "nor  yourself.  Go  on."  She  spoke 
sternly,  not  turning  her  head,  but  staring  up  the 
long  stretch  of  solitary  water. 

"It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  returned  slowly. 
"In  September  of  last  year  you  were  in  Paris  with 
our  cousin,  La  Rochefoucauld,  about  our  desperate 
money  straits,  when  the  assembly  decreed  the  seizure 
of  Avignon  from  the  Pope's  vice-legate.  This  news 
seemed  to  make  possible  the  recovery  of  rents  due 
us  in  that  city.  '  My  father  thought  it  well  for  me 
to  go  with  him— ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know;  but  go  on." 

"We  found  the  town  in  confusion.  The  Swiss 
guard  of  the  vice-legate  had  gone.  A  leader  of  the 


10  THE  BED  CITY 

Jacobin  party,  Lescuyer,  had  been  murdered  that 
morning  before  the  altar  of  the  Church  of  the  Cor 
deliers.  That  was  on  the  day  we  rode  in.  Of  a  sud 
den  we  were  caught  in  a  mob  of  peasants  near  the 
gate.  A  Jacobin,  Jourdan,  led  them,  and  had  col 
lected  under  guard  dozens  of  scared  bourgeois  and 
some  women.  Before  we  could  draw  or  even  under 
stand,  we  were  tumbled  off  our  horses  and  hustled 
along.  On  the  way  the  mob  yelled,  '  A  bas  les  aristo- 
crates ! ' 

"As  they  went,  others  were  seized— in  fact,  every 
decent-looking  man.  My  father  held  me  by  the 
wrist,  saying:  'Keep  cool,  Rene.  We  are  not 
Catholics.  It  is  the  old  trouble.'  The  crush  at  the 
Pope's  palace  was  awful.  We  were  torn  apart.  I 
was  knocked  down.  Men  went  over  me,  and  I  was 
rolled  off  the  great  outer  stair  and  fell,  happily, 
neglected.  An  old  woman  cried  to  me  to  run.  I 
got  up  and  went  in  after  the  Jourdan  mob  with  the 
people  who  were  crowding  in  to  see  what  would  hap 
pen.  You  remember  the  great  stairway.  I  was  in 
among  the  first  and  wras  pushed  forward  close  to 
the  broad  dais.  Candles  were  brought.  Jourdan— 
'coupe  tete'  they  called  him— sat  in  the  Pope's 
chair.  The  rest  sat  or  stood  on  the  steps.  A  young 
man  brought  in  a  table  and  sat  by  it.  The  rest  of 
the  great  hall  was  in  darkness,  full  of  a  ferocious 
crowd,  men  and  women. 

"Then  Jourdan  cried  out:  'Silence!  This  is  a 
court  of  the  people.  Fetch  in  the  aristocrats ! '  Some 
threescore  of  scared  men  and  a  dozen  women  were 
huddled  together  at  one  side,  the  women  crying. 


THE  BED  CITY  11 

Jourdan  waited.  One  by  one  they  were  seized  and 
set  before  him.  There  were  wild  cries  of  'Kill! 
Kill!'  Jourdan  nodded,  and  two  men  seized  them 
one  after  another,  and  at  the  door  struck.  The  peo 
ple  in  the  hall  were  silent  one  moment  as  if  ap 
palled,  and  the  next  were  frenzied  and  screaming 
horrible  things.  Near  the  end  my  father  was  set 
before  Jourdan.  He  said,  'Who  are  you?' 

"My  father  said,  'I  am  Citizen  Courval,  a 
stranger.  I  am  of  the  religion,  and  here  on  busi 
ness.'  As  he  spoke,  he  looked  around  him  and  saw 
me.  He  made  no  sign." 

"Ah,"  said  Madame  de  Courval,  "he  did  not  say 
Vicomte. ' ' 

"No.  He  was  fighting  for  his  life,  for  you,  for 
me." 

"Goon." 

"His  was  the  only  case  over  which  they  hesitated 
even  for  a  moment.  One  whom  they  called  Tournal 
said:  'He  is  not  of  Avignon.  Let  him  go.'  The  mob 
in  the  hall  was  for  a  moment  quiet.  Then  the  young 
man  at  the  table,  who  seemed  to  be  a  mock  secretary 
and  wrote  the  names  down,  got  up  and  cried  out: 
'  He  is  lying.  Who  knows  him  ? '  He  was,  alas !  too 
well  known.  A  man  far  back  of  me  called  out,  'He 
is  the  Vicomte  de  Courval.'  My  father  said:  'It  is 
true.  I  am  the  Vicomte  de  Courval.  What  then?' 

' '  The  secretary  shrieked :  '  I  said  he  lied.  Death ! 
Death. to  the  ci-devant!' 

"Jourdan  said:  'Citizen  Carteaux  is  right.  Take 
him.  We  lose  time. ' 

' '  On  this  my  father  turned  again  and  saw  me  as  I 


12  THE  KED  CITY 

cried  out,  'Oh,  my  God!  My  father!'  In  the  up 
roar  no  one  heard  me.  At  the  door  on  the  left,  it 
was,  as  they  struck,  he  called  out— oh,  very  loud: 
'Yvonne!  Yvonne!  God  keep  thee!'  Oh,  mother, 
I  saw  it— I  saw  it."  For  a  moment  he  was  unable 
to  go  on. 

"I  got  out  of  the  place  somehow.  When  safe 
amid  the  thousands  in  the  square  I  stood  still  and 
got  grip  of  myself.  A  woman  beside  me  said,  '  They 
threw  them  down  into  the  Tour  de  la  Glaciere. '  '' 

1 1  Ah ! ' '  exclaimed  the  Vicomtesse. 

"It  was  dusk  outside  when  all  was  over.  I  waited 
long,  but  about  nine  they  came  out.  The  people 
scattered.  I  went  after  the  man  Carteaux.  He  was 
all  night  in  cafes,  never  alone— never  once  alone.  I 
saw  him  again,  at  morning,  near  by  on  horseback; 
then  I  lost  him.  Ah,  my  God!  mother,  why  would 
you  make  me  tell  it  ? " 

"Because,  Rene,  it  is  often  with  you,  and  because 
it  is  not  well  for  a  young  man  to  keep  before  him 
unendingly  a  sorrow  of  the  past.  I  wanted  you  to 
feel  that  now  I  share  with  you  what  I  can  see  so 
often  has  possession  of  you.  Do  not  pity  me  because 
I  know  all.  Now  you  shall  see  how  bravely  I  will 
carry  it."  She  took  his  hand.  "It  will  be  hard, 
but  wise  to  put  it  aside.  Pray  God,  my  son,  this 
night  to  help  you  not  to  forget,  but  not  hurtfully  to 
remember. ' ' 

He  said  nothing,  but  looked  up  at  the  darkened 
heavens  under  which  the  night-hawks  were  scream 
ing  in  their  circling  flight. 

* '  Is  there  more,  my  son  ? ' ' 


"  As  they  struck,  he  called  out  '  Yvonne  ! 


THE  RED  CITY  15 

"Yes,  but  it  is  so  hopeless.  Let  us  leave  it, 
mother. ' ' 

"No.  I  said  we  -must  clear  our  souls.  Leave 
nothing  untold.  What  is  it?" 

' '  The  man  Carteaux !  If  it  had  not  been  for  you, 
I  should  never  have  left  France  until  I  found  that 
man." 

"I  thought  as  much.  Had  you  told  me,  I  should 
have  stayed,  or  begged  my  bread  in  England  while 
you  were  gone. ' ' 

"I  could  not  leave  you  then,  and  now— now  the 
sea  lies  between  me  and  him,  and  the  craving  that 
has  been  with  me  when  I  went  to  sleep  and  at  wak 
ing  I  must  put  away.  I  will  try. "  As  he  spoke,  he 
took  her  hand. 

A  rigid  Huguenot,  she  had  it  on  her  lips  to  speak 
of  the  forgiving  of  enemies.  Generations  of  belief 
in  the  creed  of  the  sword,  her  love,  her  sense  of  the 
insult  of  this  death,  of  a  sudden  mocked  her  pur 
pose.  She  was  stirred  as  he  was  by  a  passion  for 
vengeance.  She  flung  his  hand  aside,  rose,  and 
walked  swiftly  about,  getting  back  her  self-command 
by  physical  action. 

He  had  risen,  but  did  not  follow  her.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  came  back  through  the  darkness,  and 
setting  a  hand  on  each  of  his  shoulders  said  quietly : 
"I  am  sorry— the  man  is  dead  to  you— I  am  sorry 
you  ever  knew  his  name. ' ' 

"But  I  do  know  it.  It  is  with  me,  and  must  ever 
be  until  I  die.  I  am  to  try  to  forget— forget !  That 
I  cannot.  The  sea  makes  him  as  one  dead  to  me; 
but  if  ever  I  return  to  France—" 


16  THE  BED  CITY 

"Hush!  It  must  be  as  I  have  said.  If  he  were 
within  reach  do  you  think  I  would  talk  as  I  do?" 

The  young  man  leaned  over  and  kissed  her.  This 
was  his  last  secret.  "I  am  not  fool  enough  to  cry 
for  what  fate  has  swept  beyond  my  reach.  Let  us 
drop  it.  I  did  not  want  to  talk  of  it.  We  will  let 
the  dead  past  bury  its  hatred  and  think  only  of  that 
one  dear  memory,  mother.  And  now  will  you  not  go 
to  bed,  so  as  to  be  strong  for  to-morrow  ? ' ' 

"Not  yet,"  she  said.  "Go  and  smoke  your  pipe 
with  that  good  captain.  I  want  to  be  alone."  He 
kissed  her  forehead  and  went  away. 

The  river  was  still;  the  stars  came  out  one  by 
one,  and  a  great  planet  shone  distinct  on  the  mirror 
ing  plain.  Upon  the  shore  near  by  the  young  frogs 
croaked  shrilly.  Fireflies  flashed  over  her,  but 
heedless  of  this  new  world  she  sat  thinking  of  the 
past,  of  their  wrecked  fortunes,  of  the  ruin  which 
made  the  great  duke,  her  cousin,  counsel  emigration, 
a  step  he  himself  did  not  take  until  the  Terror  came. 
She  recalled  her  refusal  to  let  him  help  them  in  their 
flight,  and  how  at  last,  with  a  few  thousand  livres, 
they  had  been  counseled  to  follow  the  many  who 
had  gone  to  America. 

Then  at  last  she  rose,  one  bitter  feeling  expressing 
itself  over  and  over  in  her  mind  in  words  which  were 
like  an  echo  of  ancestral  belief,  in  the  obligation  old 
noblesse  imposed,  no  matter  what  the  cost.  An  over 
mastering  thought  broke  from  her  into  open  speech 
as  she  cried  aloud:  "Ah,  my  God!  why  did  he  not 
say  he  was  the  Vicomte  de  Courval!  Oh,  why — " 

"Did  you  call,  mother?"  said  the  son. 


THE  EED  CITY  17 

"No.  I  am  going  to  the  cabin,  Rene.  Goodnight, 
my  son ! ' ' 

He  laid  down  the  pipe  he  had  learned  to  use  in 
England  and  which  he  never  smoked  in  her  pres 
ence  ;  caught  up  her  cashmere  shawl,  a  relic  of  better 
days,  and  carefully  helped  her  down  the  companion- 
way. 

Then  he  returned  to  his  pipe  and  the  captain,  and 
to  talk  of  the  new  home  and  of  the  ship's  owner, 
Mr.  Hugh  Wynne,  and  of  those  strange,  good  peo 
ple  who  called  themselves  Friends,  and  who  tutoyed 
every  one  alike.  He  was  eager  to  hear  about  the  bit 
ter  strife  of  parties,  of  the  statesmen  in  power,  of 
the  chances  of  work,  gathering  with  intelligence 
such  information  as  might  be  of  service,  until  at  last 
it  struck  eight  bells  and  the  captain  declared  that 
he  must  go  to  bed. 

The  young  man  thanked  him  and  added,  "I  shall 
like  it,  oh,  far  better  than  England. ' ' 

"I  hope  so,  Wicount;  but  of  this  I  am  sure,  men 
will  like  you  and,  by  George,  women,  too ! ' ' 

De  Courval  laughed  merrily.  "You  flatter  me, 
Captain." 

"No.  Being  at  sea  six  weeks  with  a  man  is  as 
good  as  being  married,  for  the  knowing  of  him — the 
good  and  the  bad  of  him. ' ' 

"And  my  mother,  will  she  like  it?" 

' '  Ah,  now,  that  I  cannot  tell.    Good  night. ' ' 


n 


WHEN  in  a  morning  of  brilliant  sunshine 
again,  with  the  flood  and  a  favoring  wind, 
the  brig  moved  up-stream  alone  on  the  broad  water, 
Madame  de  Courval  came  on  deck  for  the  midday 
meal.  Her  son  hung  over  her  as  she  ate,  and  saw 
with  gladness  the  faint  pink  in  her  cheeks,  and, 
well-pleased,  translated  her  questions  to  the  captain 
as  he  proudly  pointed  out  the  objects  of  interest 
when  they  neared  the  city  of  Penn.  There  was  the 
fort  at  Red  Bank  where  the  Hessians  failed,  and 
that  was  the  Swedes'  church,  and  there  the  single 
spire  of  Christ  Church  rising  high  over  the  red  brick 
city,  as  madam  said,  of  the  color  of  Amsterdam. 

Off  the  mouth  of  Dock  Creek  they  came  to  an 
chor,  the  captain  advising  them  to  wait  on  shipboard 
until  he  returned,  and  to  be  ready  then  to  go  ashore. 

When  their  simple  preparations  were  completed, 
De  Courval  came  on  deck,  and,  climbing  the  rig 
ging,  settled  himself  in  the  crosstrees  to  take  counsel 
with  his  pipe,  and  to  be  for  a  time  alone  and  away 
from  the  boat-loads  of  people  eager  for  letters  and 
for  news  from  France  and  England. 

The  mile-wide  river  was  almost  without  a  sail.  A 
few  lazy  fishers  and  the  slowly  moving  vans  of  the 
mill  on  Wind  Mill  Island  had  little  to  interest.  As 

18 


THE  BED  CITY  19 

he  saw  it  from  his  perch,  the  city  front  was  busy 
and  represented  the  sudden  prosperity  which  came 
with  the  sense  of  permanence  the  administration  of 
Washington  seemed  to  guarantee  for  the  great  bond 
under  which  a  nation  was  to  grow.  There  was  the 
town  stretching  north  and  south  along  the  Delaware, 
and  beyond  it  woodland.  What  did  it  hold  for  him  ? 
The  mood  of  reflection  was  no  rare  one  for  a  man  of 
twenty-five  who  had  lived  through  months  of  peril 
in  France,  amid  peasants  hostile  in  creed,  and  who 
had  seen  the  fortunes  of  his  house  melt  away,  and  at 
last  had  aged  suddenly  into  gravity  beyond  his  years 
when  he  beat  his  way  heartsick  out  of  the  grim  trag 
edy  of  Avignon. 

His  father's  people  were  of  the  noblesse  of  the 
robe,  country  gentles ;  his  mother  a  cousin  of  the  two 
dukes  Rochefoucauld.  He  drew  qualities  from  a 
long  line  of  that  remarkable  judicature  which 
through  all  changes  kept  sacred  and  spotless  the 
ermine  of  the  magistrate.  From  the  mother's  race 
he  had  spirit,  courage,  and  a  reserve  of  violent  pas 
sions,  the  inheritance  of  a  line  of  warlike  nobles 
unused  to  recognize  any  law  but  their  own  will. 

The  quiet  life  of  a  lesser  country  gentleman,  the 
absence  from  court  which  pride  and  lessening  means 
alike  enforced,  and  the  puritan  training  of  a  house 
which  held  tenaciously  to  the  creed  of  Calvin,  com 
bined  to  fit  him  better  to  earn  his  living  in  a  new 
land  than  was  the  case  with  the  greater  nobles  who 
had  come  to  seek  what  contented  their  ambitions— 
some  means  of  living  until  they  should  regain  their 
lost  estates.  They  drew  their  hopes  from  a  ruined 


20  THE  RED  CITY 

past.  De  Courval  looked  forward  with  hope  fed  by 
youth,  energy,  and  the  simpler  life. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  the  captain  set  them 
ashore  with  their  boxes  on  the  slip  in  front  of  the 
warehouse  of  Mr.  Wynne,  the  ship 's  owner.  He  was 
absent  at  Merion,  but  his  porters  would  care  for 
their  baggage,  and  a  junior  clerk  would  find  for 
them  an  inn  until  they  could  look  for  a  permanent 
home.  When  the  captain  landed  them  on  the  slip, 
the  old  clerk,  Mr.  Potts,  made  them  welcome,  and 
would  have  had  madam  wait  in  the  warehouse  until 
their  affairs  had  been  duly  ordered.  When  her  son 
translated  the  invitation,  she  said:  "I  like  it  here. 
I  shall  wait  for  you.  The  sun  is  pleasant."  While 
he  was  gone,  she  stood  alone,  looking  about  her  at 
the  busy  wharf,  the  many  vessels,  the  floating  wind 
mills  anchored  on  the  river,  and  the  long  line  of  red 
brick  warehouses  along  the  river  front. 

On  his  return,  De  Courval,  much  troubled,  ex 
plained  that  there  was  not  a  hackney-coach  to  be 
had,  and  that  she  had  better  wait  in  the  counting- 
house  until  a  chaise  could  be  found.  Seeing  her 
son's  distress,  and  learning  that  an  inn  could  be 
reached  near  by,  she  declared  it  would  be  pleasant 
to  walk  and  that  every  minute  made  her  better. 

There  being  no  help  for  it,  they  set  out  witli  the 
clerk,  who  had  but  a  mild  interest  in  this  addition 
to  the  French  who  were  beginning  to  fly  from  France 
and  the  islands,  and  were  taxing  heavily  the  hos 
pitality  and  the  charity  of  the  city.  A  barrow- 
man  came  on  behind,  with  the  baggage  for  their  im 
mediate  needs,  now  and  then  crying,  " Barrow! 
Barrow ! ' '  when  his  way  was  impeded. 


THE  BED  CITY  21 

De  Courval,  at  first  annoyed  that  his  mother  must 
walk,  was  silent,  but  soon,  with  unfailing  curiosity, 
began  to  be  interested  and  amused.  When,  reaching 
Second  Street,  they  crossed  the  bridge  over  Dock 
Creek,  they  found  as  they  moved  northward  a  brisk 
business  life,  shops,  and  more  varied  costumes  than 
are  seen  to-day.  Here  were  Quakers,  to  madam's 
amazement ;  nun-like  Quaker  women  in  the  monastic 
seclusion  of  what  later  was  irreverently  called  the 
"coal-scuttle"  bonnet;  Germans  of  the  Palatinate; 
men  of  another  world  in  the  familiar  short-clothes, 
long,  broidered  waistcoat,  and  low  beaver;  a  few 
negroes;  and  the  gray-clad  mechanic,  with  now  and 
then  a  man  from  the  islands,  when  suddenly  a  mur 
mur  of  French  startled  the  vicomtesse. 

"What  a  busy  life,  maman/'  her  son  said;  "not 
like  that  dark  London,  and  no  fog,  and  the  sun— 
like  the  sun  of  home." 

"We  have  no  home,"  she  replied,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  he  was  silent.  Then,  still'  intent  upon  interest 
ing  her,  he  said : 

"How  strange!  There  is  a  sign  of  a  likely  black 
wench  and  two  children  for  sale.  'Inquire  within 
and  see  them.  Sold  for  want  of  use. '  And  lotteries, 
maman.  There  is  one  for  a  canal  between  the  Dela 
ware  and  the  Schuylkill  rivers ;  and  one  to  improve 
the  Federal  City.  I  wonder  where  that  is."  She 
paid  little  attention,  and  walked  on,  a  tall,  dark, 
somber  woman,  looking  straight  before  her,  with 
her  thoughts  far  away. 

The  many  taverns  carried  names  which  were 
echoes  from  the  motherland,  which  men,  long  after 
the  war,  were  still  npt,  as  Washington  wrote,  to  call 


22  THE  RED  CITY 

"home."  The  Sign  of  the  Cock,  the  Dusty  Miller, 
the  Pewter  Plate,  and— "Ah,  maman,"  he  cried, 
laughing,  "The  Inn  of  the  Struggler.  That  should 
suit  us. " 

The  sullen  clerk,  stirred  at  last  by  the  young  fel 
low's  gay  interest,  his  eager  questions,  and  his  evi 
dent  wish  to  distract  and  amuse  a  tired  woman  who 
stumbled  over  the  loose  bricks  of  the  sidewalk,  de 
clared  that  was  no  place  for  them.  Her  tall  figure 
in  mourning  won  an  occasional  glance,  but  no  more. 
It  was  a  day  of  strange  faces  and  varied  costumes. 
"And,  maman/'  said  her  son,  "the  streets  are  called 
for  trees  and  the  lanes  for  berries."  Disappointed 
at  two  inns  of  the  better  class,  there  being  no  vacant 
rooms,  they  crossed  High  Street ;  the  son  amused  at 
the  market  stands  for  fruit,  fish,  and  ' l  garden  truck, 
too,"  the  clerk  said,  with  blacks  crying,  "Calamus! 
sweet  calamus!"  and  "Pepper  pot,  smoking  hot!" 
or  "Hominy!  samp!  grits!  hominy!"  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  as  they  paused  on  the  farther  corner,  madam 
cried  out,  "Mon  dieu!"  and  her  son  a  half -sup 
pressed  "Sacre!"  A  heavy  landau  coming  down 
Second  Street  bumped  heavily  into  a  deep  rut  and 
there  was  a  liberal  splash  of  muddy  water  across 
madam's  dark  gown  and  the  young  man's  clothes. 
In  an  instant  the  owner  of  the  landau  had  alighted, 
hat  in  hand,  a  middle-aged  man  in  velvet  coat  and 
knee-breeches. 

"Madam,  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons." 
"My  mother  does  not  speak  English,  sir.     These 
things  happen.    It  is  they  who  made  the  street  who 
should  apologize.    It  is  of  small  moment." 


THE  BED  CITY  23 

' '  I  thank  you  for  so  complete  an  excuse,  sir.  You 
surely  cannot  be  French.  Permit  me," — and  he 
turned  to  the  woman,  "mille  pardons,"  and  went 
on  in  fairly  fluent  French  to  say  how  much  he  re 
gretted,  and  would  not  madam  accept  his  landau 
and  drive  home  ?  She  thanked  him,  but  declined  the 
offer  in  a  voice  which  had  a  charm  for  all  who  heard 
it.  He  bowed  low,  not  urging  his  offer,  and  said, 
"I  am  Mr.  William  Bingham.  I  trust  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  madam  again  and,  too,  this 
young  gentleman,  whose  neat  excuse  for  me  would 
betray  him  if  his  perfect  French  did  not.  Can  I 
further  serve  you?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  De  Courval,  "except  to  tell  me 
what  inn  near  by  might  suit  us.  We  are  but  just 
now  landed.  My  guide  seems  in  doubt.  I  should 
like  one  close  at  hand.  My  mother  is,  I  fear,  very 
tired." 

"I  think,"— and  he  turned  to  the  clerk,— "yes, 
St.  Tammany*  would  serve.  It  is  clean  and  well  kept 
and  near  by."  He  was  about  to  add,  "Use  my 
name,"  but,  concluding  not  to  do  so,  added:  "It  is 
at  the  corner  of  Chancery  Lane.  This  young  man 
will  know. ' '  Then,  with  a  further  word  of  courtesy, 
he  drove  away,  while  madam  stood  for  a  moment 
sadly  contemplating  the  additions  to  her  toilet. 

Mr.  Bingham,  senator  for  Pennsylvania,  reflected 
with  mild  curiosity  on  the  two  people  he  had  an 
noyed,  and  then  murmured :  "  I  was  stupid.  That  is 
where  the  Federal  Club  meets  and  the  English  go. 
They  will  never  take  those  poor  French  with  their 
baggage  in  a  barrow." 


24  THE  EED  CITY 

He  had  at  least  the  outward  manners  of  a  day 
when  there  was  leisure  to  be  courteous,  and,  feeling 
pleased  with  himself,  soon  forgot  the  people  he  had 
unluckily  inconvenienced.  De  Courval  went  on, 
ruefully  glancing  at  his  clothes,  and  far  from  dream 
ing  that  he  was  some  day  to  be  indebted  to  the  gen 
tleman  they  had  left. 

The  little  party,  thus  directed,  turned  into  Mul 
berry  Street,  or,  as  men  called  it,  Arch,  and,  with 
his  mother,  De  Courval  entered  a  cleanly  front  room 
under  the  sign  of  St.  Tammany.  There  was  a  barred 
tap  in  one  corner,  maids  in  cap  and  apron  moving 
about,  many  men  seated  at  tables,  with  long  pipes 
called  churchwardens,  drinking  ale  or  port  wine. 
Some  looked  up,  and  De  Courval  heard  a  man  say, 
"More  French  beggars."  He  flushed,  bit  his  lip, 
and  turned  to  a  portly  man  in  a  white  jacket,  who 
was,  as  it  seemed,  the  landlord.  The  mother  shrank 
from  the  rude  looks  and  said  a  few  words  in  French. 

The  host  turned  sharply  as  she  sjtoke,  and  De 
Courval  asked  if  he  could  have  two  rooms.  The 
landlord  had  none. 

"Then  may  my  mother  sit  down  while  I  inquire 
without?" 

A  man  rose  and  offered  his  chair  as-'  he  said  civilly : 
"Oeller's  Tavern  might  suit  you.  It  is  the  French 
house— a  hotel,  they  call  it.  You  will  get  no  wel 
come  here." 

"Thank  you,"  said  De  Courval,  hearing  comments 
on  their  muddy  garments  and  the  damned  French. 
He  would  have  had  a  dozen  quarrels  on  his  hands  had 
he  been  alone.  His  mother  had  declined  the  seat,  and 


THE  BED  CITY  25 

as  he  followed  her  out,  he  lingered  on  the  step  to 
speak  to  his  guide.  They  were  at  once  forgotten,  but 
he  heard  behind  him  scraps  of  talk,  the  freely  used 
oaths  of  the  day,  curses  of  the  demagogue  Jefferson 
and  the  man  Washington,  who  was  neither  for  one 
party  nor  for  the  other.  He  listened  with  amaze 
ment  and  restrained  anger. 

He  had  fallen  in  with  a  group  of  middle-class  men, 
Federalists  in  name,  clamorous  for  war  with  Jacobin 
France,  and  angry  at  their  nominal  leader,  who 
stood  like  a  rock  against  the  double  storm  of  opinion 
which  was  eager  for  him  to  side  with  our  old  ally 
France  or  to  conciliate  England.  It  was  long  before 
De  Courval  understood  the  strife  of  parties,  felt  most 
in  the  cities,  or  knew  that  back  of  the  mischievous 
diversity  of  opinion  in  and  out  of  the  cabinet  was  our 
one  safeguard— the  belief  of  the  people  in  a  single 
man  and  in  his  absolute  good  sense  and  integrity. 
Young  De  Courval  could  not  have  known  that  the 
thoughtless  violence  of  party  classed  all  French  to 
gether,  and  as  yet  did  not  realize  that  the  emigre  was 
generally  the  most  deadly  foe  of  the  present  rule  in 
France. 

Looking  anxiously  at  his  mother,  they  set  out  again 
up  Mulberry  Street,  past  the  meeting-house  of 
Friends  and  the  simple  grave  of  the  great  Franklin, 
the  man  too  troubled,  and  the  mother  too  anxious,  to 
heed  or  question  when  they  moved  by  the  burial- 
ground  where  Royalist  and  Whig  lay  in  the  peace  of 
death  and  where,  at  the  other  corner,  Wetherill  with 
the  free  Quakers  built  the  home  of  a  short-lived 
creed. 


26  THE  BED  CITY 

Oeller's  Tavern— because  of  its  French  guests 
called  a  hotel— was  on  Chestnut  Street,  west  of 
Fifth,  facing  the  State  House.  A  civil  French  serv 
ant  asked  them  into  a  large  room  on  the  right  of  what 
was  known  as  a  double  house.  It  was  neat  and  clean, 
and  the  floor  was  sanded.  Presently  appeared 
Maxim  Oeller.  Yes,  he  had  rooms.  He  hoped  the 
citizen  would  like  them,  and  the  citizeness.  De  Cour- 
val  was  not  altogether  amused.  He  had  spoken  Eng 
lish,  saying,  however,  that  he  was  of  France,  and  the 
landlord  had  used  the  patois  of  Alsace.  The  mother 
was  worn  out,  and  said  wearily:  "I  can  go  no  far 
ther.  It  will  do.  It  must  do,  until  we  can  find  a  per 
manent  lodging  and  one  less  costly. ' ' 

Mr.  Oeller  was  civil  and  madam  well  pleased.  For 
supper  in  her  room,  on  extra  payment,  were  fair  rolls 
and  an  omelet.  De  Courval  got  the  mud  off  his 
clothes  and  at  six  went  down-stairs  for  his  supper. 

At  table,  when  he  came  in,  were  some  twenty  peo 
ple,  all  men.  Only  two  or  three  were  of  French  birth 
and  the  young  man,  who  could  not  conceive  of  Jaco 
bin  clubs  out  of  France,  sat  down  and  began  to  eat 
with  keen  relish  a  well-cooked  supper. 

By  and  by  his  neighbors  spoke  to  him.  Had  he 
just  come  over  the  seas,  as  the  landlord  had  reported  ? 
What  was  doing  in  France  ?  He  replied,  of  course,  in 
his  very  pure  English.  News  in  London  had  come  of 
Mirabeau's  death.  Much  interested,  they  plied  him  at 
once  with  questions.  And  the  king  had  tried  to  leave 
Paris,  and  there  had  been  mobs  in  the  provinces, 
bloodshed,  and  an  attack  on  Vincennes— which  was 
not  quite  true.  Here  were  Americans  who  talked  like 


THE  BED  CITY  2; 

the  Jacobins  he  had  left  at  home.  Their  violence  sur 
prised  him.  Would  he  like  to  come  to-morrow  to  the 
Jacobin  Club  1  The  king  was  to  be  dealt  with.  Be 
tween  amusement  and  indignation  the  grave  young 
vicomte  felt  as  though  he  were  among  madmen.  One 
man  asked  if  the  decree  of  death  to  all  emigres  had 
been  carried  out.  "No,"  he  laughed;  "not  while 
they  were  wise  enough  to  stay  away."  Another  in 
formed  him  that  Washington  and  Hamilton  were  on 
the  way  to  create  a  monarchy.  "Yes,  Citizen,  you 
are  in  a  land  of  titles— Your  Excellency,  Their  Hon 
ors  of  the  supreme  court  in  gowns— scarlet  gowns." 
His  discreet  silence  excited  them.  "Who  are  you 
for?  Speak  out!" 

' '  I  am  a  stranger  here,  with  as  yet  no  opinions. ' ' 

1 '  A  neutral,  by  Jove ! ' '  shouted  one. 

At  last  the  young  man  lost  patience  and  said:  "I 
am  not,  gentlemen,  a  Jacobin.  I  am  of  that  noblesse 
which  of  their  own  will  gave  up  their  titles.  I  am 
or  was— the  Vicomte  de  Courval." 

There  was  an  uproar.  ' '  We  are  citizens,  we  would 
have  you  to  know.  Damn  your  titles !  We  are  citi 
zens,  not  gentlemen." 

"That  is  my  opinion,"  said  De  Courval,  rising. 
Men  hooted  at  him  and  shook  fists  in  his  face. 
"Take  care!"  he  cried,  backing  away  from  the  ta 
ble.  In  the  midst  of  it  came  the  landlord.  "He  is  a 
royalist,"  they  cried;  "he  must  go  or  we  go." 

The  landlord  hurried  him  out  of  the  room. 
"Monsieur,"  he  said— " Citizen,  these  are  fools,  but 
I  have  my  living  to  think  of.  You  must  go.  I  am 
sorry,  very  sorry." 


28  THE  RED  CITY 

"I  cannot  go  now,"  said  De  Courval.  "I  shall 
do  so  to-morrow  at  my  leisure."  It  was  so  agreed. 
He  talked  quietly  a  while  with  his  mother,  saying 
nothing  of  this  new  trouble,  and  then,  still  hot  with 
anger,  he  went  to  his  room,  astonished  at  his  recep 
tion,  and  anxious  that  his  mother  should  find  a 
more  peaceful  home. 

He  slept  the  sleep  of  the  healthy  young,  rose  at 
early  dawn,  and  was  able  to  get  milk  and  bread  and 
thus  to  escape  breakfast  with  the  citizen-boarders, 
not  yet  arisen.  Before  he  went  out,  he  glanced  at 
the  book  of  guests.  He  had  written  Vicomte  de 
Courval,  with  his  mother's  name  beneath  it,  La  Vi- 
comtesse  de  Courval,  without  a  thought  on  so  cas 
ual  a  matter,  and  now,  flushing,  he  read  "Citizen" 
above  his  title  with  an  erasure  of  de  and  Vicomte. 
Over  his  mother's  title  was  written  the  last  affecta 
tion  of  the  Jacobins,  "Citizeness"  Courval.  It  was 
so  absurd  that,  the  moment's  anger  passing  into 
mirth,  he  went  out  into  the  air,  laughing  and  ex 
claiming:  "Mais  qu'ils  sont  betes!  Quelle  enfan- 
tillage!  What  childishness!"  The  servant,  a  man 
of  middle  age,  who  was  sweeping  the  steps,  said  in 
French,  "What  a  fine  day,  monsieur." 

"Bon  jour,  Citizen,"  returned  De  Courval, 
laughing.  The  man  laughed  also,  and  said,  "Can 
ailles,  Monsieur,"  with  a  significant  gesture  of  con 
tempt.  "Bon  jour,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  and 
then,  hearing  steps  within,  resumed  his  task  with: 
"But  one  must  live.  My  stomach  has  the  opinions 
of  my  appetite."  For  a  moment  he  watched  the 
serious  face  and  well-knit  figure  of  the  vicomte  as  he 


THE  EED  CITY  29 

turned  westward,  and  then  went  into  the  house,  re 
marking,  "Qu'il  est  beau" — "What  a  handsome  fel 
low!" 

De  Courval  passed  on.  Independence  Hall  inter 
ested  him  for  a  moment.  Many  people  went  by 
him,  going  to  their  work,  although  it  was  early.  He 
saw  the  wretched  paving,  the  few  houses  high  on 
banks  of  earth  beyond  Sixth  Street,  and  then,  as  he 
walked  westward  on  Chestnut  Street,  pastures, 
cows,  country,  and  the  fine  forest  to  the  north 
known  as  the  Governor's  Wood.  At  last,  a  mile 
farther,  he  came  upon  the  bank  of  a  river  flowing 
slowly  by.  What  it  was  he  did  not  know.  On  the 
farther  shore  were  farms  and  all  about  him  a  thin 
ner  forest.  It  was  as  yet  early,  and,  glad  of  the 
lonely  freshness,  he  stood  still  a  little  while  among 
the  trees,  saw  bees  go  by  on  early  business  bent,  and 
heard  in  the  edge  of  the  wood  the  love  song  of  a 
master  singer,  the  cat-bird.  Nature  had  taken  him 
in  hand.  He  was  already  happier  when,  with  shock 
of  joy  he  realized  what  she  offered.  No  one  was  in 
sight.  He  undressed  in  the  edge  of  the  wood  and 
stood  a  while  in  the  open  on  the  graveled  strand, 
the  tide  at  full  of  flood.  The  morning  breeze  stirred 
lightly  the  pale-green  leaves  of  spring  with  shy 
caress,  so  that  little  flashes  of  warm  light  from  the 
level  sun-shafts  coming  through  the  thin  leafage  of 
May  flecked  his  white  skin.  He  looked  up,  threw 
out  his  arms  with  the  naked  man's  instinctive  hap 
piness  in  the  moment's  sense  of  freedom  from  all 
form  of  bondage,  ran  down  the  beach,  and  with  a 
shout  of  pure  barbarian  delight  plunged  into  the 


30  THE  RED  CITY 

river.  For  an  hour  he  was  only  a  young  animal 
alone  with  nature— diving,  swimming,  splashing  the 
water,  singing  bits  of  love-songs  or  laughing  in  pure 
childlike  enjoyment  of  the  use  of  easy  strength.  At 
last  he  turned  on  his  back  and  floated  luxuriously. 
He  pushed  back  his  curly  hair,  swept  the  water 
from  his  eyes,  and  saw  with  a  cry  of  pleasure  that 
which  is  seen  only  from  the  level  of  the  watery 
plain.  On  the  far  shore,  a  red  gravel  bank,  taking 
the  sun,  was  reflected  a  plain  of  gold  on  the  river's 
breadth.  The  quickened  wind  rolled  the  water  into 
little  concave  mirrors  which,  dancing  on  the  gold  sur 
face,  gathered  the  clear  azure  above  him  in  cups  of 
intense  indigo  blue.  It  was  new  and  freshly  wonder 
ful.  What  a  sweet  world !  How  good  to  be  alive ! 

When  ashore  he  stood  in  a  flood  of  sunshine, 
wringing  the  water  from  body  and  limbs  and  hair, 
and  at  last  running  up  and  down  the  beach  until  he 
was  dry  and  could  dress.  Then,  hat  in  hand,  he 
walked  away,  feeling  the  wholesome  languor  of  the 
practised  swimmer  and  gaily  singing  a  song  of 
home: 

"  Quand  tout  renait  &  1'esperance, 

Et  que  I'hiver  fuit  loin  de  nous, 
Sous  le  beau  ciel  de  notre  France, 

Quand  le  soleil  revient  plus  doux; 
Quand  la  nature  est  reverdie, 

Quand  1'hirondelle  est  de  retour, 
J'aime  a  revoir  ma  Normandie, 

C'est  le  pays  qui  m'a  donne*  le  jour!" 

The  cares  and  doubts  and  worries  of  yesterday  were 
gone— washed  out  of  him,  as  it  were,  in  nature's 


THE  EED  CITY  31 

baptismal  regeneration  of  mind  and  body.  All  that 
he  himself  recognized  was  a  glad  sense  of  the  return 
of  competence  and  of  some  self-assurance  of  capac 
ity  to  face  the  new  world  of  men  and  things. 

He  wandered  into  the  wood  and  said  good  morn 
ing  to  two  men  who,  as  they  told  him,  were  '  *  falling 
a  tree."  He  gathered  flowers,  white  violets,  the 
star  flower,  offered  tobacco  for  their  pipes,  which 
they  accepted,  and  asked  them  what  flower  was  this. 
"We  call  them  Quaker  ladies."  He  went  away 
wondering  what  poet  had  so  named  them.  In  the 
town  he  bought  two  rolls  and  ate  them  as  he  walked, 
like  the  great  Benjamin.  About  nine  o'clock,  re 
turning  to  the  hotel,  he  threw  the  flowers  in  his 
mother's  lap  as  he  kissed  her.  He  saw  to  her  break 
fast,  chatted  hopefully,  and  when,  about  noon,  she 
insisted  on  going  with  him  to  seek  for  lodgings,  he 
was  pleased  at  her  revived  strength.  The  landlord 
regretted  that  they  must  leave,  and  gave  addresses 
near  by.  Unluckily,  none  suited  their  wants  or 
their  sense  of  need  for  rigid  economy;  and,  more 
over,  the  vicomtesse  was  more  difficult  to  please 
than  the  young  man  thought  quite  reasonable. 
They  were  pausing,  perplexed,  near  the  southwest 
corner  of  Chestnut  and  Fifth  streets  when,  having 
passed  two  gentlemen  standing  at  the  door  of  a 
brick  building  known  as  the  Philosophical  Society, 
De  Courval  said,  "I  will  go  back  and  ask  where  to 
apply  for  information."  He  had  been  struck  with 
the  unusual  height  of  one  of  the  speakers,  and  with 
the  animation  of  his  face  as  he  spoke,  and  had 
caught  as  he  went  by  a  phrase  or  two;  for  the 


32  THE  RED  CITY 

stouter  man  spoke  in  a  loud,  strident  voice,  as  if  at 
a  town  meeting.  "I  hope,  Citizen,  you  liked  the 
last  *  Gazette.'  It  is  time  to  give  men  their  true 
labels.  Adams  is  a  monarchist  and  Hamilton  is  an 
aristocrat. ' ' 

The  taller  man,  a  long,  lean  figure,  returned  in  a 
more  refined  voice :  ' '  Yes,  yes ;  it  is,  I  fear,  only  too 
true.  I  hope,  Citizen,  to  live  to  see  the  end  of  the 
titles  they  love,  even  Mr. ;  for  who  is  the  master  of  a 
freeman  ? " 

"How  droll  is  that,  maman!"  said  De  Courval, 
half  catching  this  singular  interchange  of  senti 
ment. 

' '  Why,  Eene  f    What  is  droll  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  nothing."  He  turned  back,  and  addressing 
the  taller  man  said:  "Pardon  me,  sir,  but  we  are 
strangers  in  search  of  some  reasonable  lodging- 
house.  May  I  ask  where  we  could  go  to  find  some 
one  to  direct  us?" 

The  gentleman  appealed  to  took  off  his  hat,  bow 
ing  to  the  woman,  and  then,  answering  the  son, 
said,  "My  friend,  Citizen  Freneau,  may  know." 
The  citizen  had  small  interest  in  the  matter.  The 
taller  man,  suddenly  struck  by  the  woman's  grave 
and  moveless  face  and  the  patient  dignity  of  her 
bearing,  began  to  take  an  interest  in  this  stranded 
couple,  considering  them  with  his  clear  hazel  eyes. 
As  he  stood  uncovered,  he  said:  "Tell  them,  Fren 
eau!  Your  paper  must  have  notices— advertise 
ments.  Where  shall  they  inquire?" 

Freneau  did  not  know,  but  quick  to  note  his  com 
panion 's  interest,  said  presently:  "Oh,  yes,  they 


THE  KED  CITY  33 

might  learn  at  the  library.  They  keep  there  a  list 
of  lodging-houses." 

1 '  That  will  do, ' '  said  the  lean  man.  Madame,  un 
derstanding  that  they  were  to  be  helped  by  this 
somber-looking  gentleman,  said,  "  Je  vous  remercie, 
messieurs." 

"My  mother  thanks  you,  sir." 

Then  there  was  of  a  sudden  cordiality.  Most  of 
the  few  French  known  to  Freneau  were  Bepubli- 
cans  and  shared  his  extreme  opinions.  The  greater 
emigration  from  the  islands  and  of  the  beggared 
nobles  was  not  as  yet  what  it  was  to  become. 

"You  are  French?"  said  Freneau. 

"Yes,  we  are  French." 

"I  was  myself  about  to  go  to  the  library,"  said 
the  taller  man,  and,  being  a  courteous  gentle 
man  gone  mad  with  "gallic  fever,"  added  in  imper 
fect  French,  "If  madame  will  permit  me;  it  is  near 
by,  and  I  shall  have  the  honor  to  show  the  way." 

Then  Citizen  Freneau  of  the  new  "National  Ga 
zette,"  a  clerk  in  the  Department  of  State,  was  too 
abruptly  eager  to  help ;  but  at  last  saying  ' '  Good-by , 
Citizen  Jefferson,"  went  his  way  as  the  statesman, 
talking  his  best  French  to  the  handsome  woman  at 
his  side,  went  down  Chestnut  Street,  while  De  Cour- 
val,  relieved,  followed  them  and  reflected  with  in 
terest—for  he  had  learned  many  things  on  the  voy 
age — that  the  tall  man  in  front  must  be  the  former 
minister  to  France,  the  idol  of  the  Democratic 
party,  and  the  head  of  that  amazing  cabinet  of  di 
verse  opinions  which  the  great  soldier  president  had 
gathered  about  him.  East  of  Fourth  Street,  Mr. 


34  THE  BED  CITY 

Jefferson  turned  into  a  court,  and  presently  stood 
for  a  moment  on  the  front  step  of  a  two-story  brick 
building  known  as  Carpenter's  Hall,  over  which  a 
low  spire  still  bore  a  forgotten  crown.  Not  less  for 
gotten  were  Jefferson's  democratic  manners.  He  was 
at  once  the  highly  educated  and  well-loved  Virgin 
ian  of  years  ago. 

He  had  made  good  use  of  his  time,  and  the  wo 
man  at  his  side,  well  aware  of  the  value  of  being 
agreeable,  had  in  answer  to  a  pleasant  question 
given  her  name,  and  presently  had  been  told  by  the 
ex-minister  his  own  name,  with  which  she  was  not 
unfamiliar. 

"Here,  madame,"  he  said,  "the  first  Congress 
met.  I  had  the  misfortune  not  to  be  of  it." 

"But  later,  monsieur — later,  you  can  have  had 
nothing  to  regret." 

"Certainly  not  to-day,"  said  the  Virginian.  He 
paused  as  a  tall,  powerfully  built  man,  coming  out 
with  a  book  in  his  hand,  filled  the  doorway. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Wynne,"  said  Jefferson. 
"Is  the  librarian  within?" 

"Yes;  in  the  library,  up-stairs." 

Hearing  the  name  of  the  gentleman  who  thus  re 
plied,  the  young  vicomte  said : 

"May  I  ask,  sir,  if  you  are  Mr.  Hugh  Wynne?" 

"Yes,  I  am;  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  are 
the  Vicomte  de  Courval,  and  this,  your  mother. 
Ah,  madame,"  he  said  in  French,  far  other  than 
that  of  the  secretary,  "I  missed  you  at  Oeller's,  and 
I  am  now  at  your  service.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  vicomtesse  replied  that  they  had  been  guided 


THE  RED  CITY  35 

hither  by  Mr.  Jefferson  to  find  a  list  of  lodging- 
houses. 

"Then  let  us  go  and  see  about  it." 

1  'This  way,  Vicomte,"  said  Jefferson.  "It  is 
up-stairs,  madame."  Ah,  where  now  were  the  plain 
manners  of  democracy  and  the  scorn  of  titles?  A 
low,  sweet  voice  had  bewitched  him,  the  charm  of 
perfect  French  at  its  best. 

The  United  States  bank  was  on  the  first  floor,  and 
the  clerks  looked  up  with  interest  at  the  secretary 
and  his  companions  as  they  passed  the  open  door. 
De  Courval  lingered  to  talk  with  Wynne,  both  in 
their  way  silently  amused  at  the  capture  by  the  vi- 
comtesse  of  the  gentleman  with  Jacobin  principles. 

The  room  up-stairs  was  surrounded  with  well- 
filled  book-shelves.  Midway,  at  a  table,  sat  Zach- 
ariah  Poulson,  librarian,  who  was  at  once  intro 
duced,  and  who  received  them  with  the  quiet  good 
manners  of  his  sect.  A  gentleman  standing  near 
the  desk  looked  up  from  the  book  in  his  hand. 
While  Mr.  Poulson  went  in  search  of  the  desired 
list,  Mr.  Wynne  said:  "Good  morning,  James.  I 
thought,  Mr.  Secretary,  you  knew  Mr.  Logan.  Per 
mit  me  to  add  agreeably  to  your  acquaintance." 
The  two  gentlemen  bowed,  and  Wynne  added:  "By 
the  way,  do  you  chance  to  know,  Mr.  Secretary,  that 
Mr.  Logan  is  hereditary  librarian  of  the  Loganian 
Library,  and  every  Logan  in  turn  if  he  pleases — our 
only  inherited  title." 

"Not  a  very  alarming  title,"  said  the  Quaker 
gentleman,  demurely. 

"We  can  stand  that  much,"  said  Jefferson,  smil- 


36  THE  BED  CITY 

ing  as  he  turned  to  Madame  de  Courval,  while  her 
son,  a  little  aside,  waited  for  the  list  and  surveyed 
with  interest  the  Quakers,  the  statesman,  and  the 
merchant  who  seemed  so  friendly. 

At  this  moment  came  forward  a  woman  of  some 
forty  years;  rose-red  her  cheeks  within  the  Quaker 
bonnet,  and  below  all  was  sober  gray,  with  a  slight, 
pearl-colored  silk  shawl  over  her  shoulders. 

"Good  morning,  Friend  Wynne.  Excuse  me, 
Friend  Jefferson,"  she  said.  "May  I  be  allowed  a 
moment  of  thy  time,  James  Logan?"  The  gentle 
men  drew  back.  She  turned  to  the  vicomtesse. 
"Thou  wilt  permit  me.  I  must  for  home  shortly. 
James  Logan,  there  is  a  book  William  Bingham  has 
praised  to  my  daughter.  I  would  first  know  if  it 
be  fitting  for  her  to  read.  It  is  called,  I  believe, 
'Thomas  Jones/  " 

Mr.  Jefferson's  brow  rose  a  little,  the  hazel  eyes 
confessed  some  merriment,  and  a  faint  smile  went 
over  the  face  of  Hugh  Wynne  as  Logan  said:  "I 
cannot  recommend  it  to  thee,  Mary  Swan  wick." 

"Thank  thee,"  she  said  simply.  "There  is  too 
much  reading  of  vain  books  among  Friends.  I  fear 
I  am  sometimes  a  sinner  myself;  but  thy  aunt, 
Mistress  Gainor,  Hugh,  laughs  at  me,  and  spoils 
the  girl  with  books— too  many  for  her  good,  I 
fear." 

"Ah,  she  taught  me  worse  wickedness  than  books 
when  I  was  young, ' '  said  Wynne ;  ' '  but  your  girl  is 
less  easy  to  lead  astray.  Oh,  a  word,  Mary, ' '  and  he 
lowered  his  voice.  "Here  are  two  French  people  I 
want  you  to  take  into  your  house." 

"If  it  is  thy  wish,  Hugh;  but  although  there  is 


THE  RED  CITY  37 

room  and  to  spare,  we  live,  of  need,  very  simply,  as 
thou  knowest. " 

"That  is  not  thy  Uncle  Langstroth's  fault  or 
mine. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes.  Thou  must  know  how  wilful  I  am. 
But  Friend  Schmidt  is  only  too  generous,  and  we 
have  what  contents  me,  and  should  content  Mar 
garet,  if  it  were  not  for  the  vain  worldliness  Gainor 
Wynne  puts  into  the  child's  head.  Will  they  like 
Friend  Schmidt?" 

"He  will  like  them,  Mary  Swanwick.  You  are  a 
fair  French  scholar  yourself.  Perhaps  they  may 
teach  you— they  are  pleasant  people."  He,  too,  had 
been  captured  by  the  sweet  French  tongue  he  loved. 

' '  They  have  some  means, ' '  he  added,  ' '  and  I  shall 
see  about  the  young  man.  He  seems  more  English 
than  French,  a  staid  young  fellow.  You  may  make 
a  Quaker  of  him,  Mary. ' ' 

"Thou  art  foolish,  Hugh  Wynne;  but  I  will  take 
them." 

Then  the  perverted  Secretary  of  State  went  away. 
Mrs.  Swanwick,  still  in  search  of  literature,  received 
an  innocent  book  called  "The  Haunted  Priory,  or 
the  Fortunes  of  the  House  of  Almy. "  There  were 
pleasant  introductions,  and,  to  De  Courval's  satis 
faction,  their  baggage  would  be  taken  in  charge,  a 
chaise  sent  in  the  afternoon  for  his  mother  and  him 
self,  and  for  terms — well,  that  might  bide  awhile 
until  they  saw  if  all  parties  were  suited.  The 
widow,  pleased  to  oblige  her  old  friend,  had  still  her 
reserve  of  doubt  and  some  thought  as  to  what  might 
be  said  by  her  permanent  inmate,  Mr.  Johann 
Schmidt. 


Ill 


ON  reaching  Mrs.  Swanwick's  home  in  the  after 
noon,  the  vicomtesse  went  at  once  to  her  room, 
where  the  cleanliness  and  perfect  order  met  her  tacit 
approval,  and  still  more  the  appetizing  meal  which 
the  hostess  herself  brought  to  the  bedside  of  her  tired 
guest. 

Mr.  Schmidt,  the  other  boarder,  was  absent  at  sup 
per,  and  the  evening  meal  went  by  with  little  talk  be 
yond  what  the  simple  needs  of  the  meal  required. 
De  Courval  excused  himself  early  and,  after  a  brief 
talk  with  his  mother,  was  glad  of  a  comfortable  bed, 
where  he  found  himself  thinking  with  interest  of  the 
day's  small  events  and  of  the  thin,  ruddy  features, 
bright,  hazel  eyes  and  red  hair,  of  the  tall  Virginia 
statesman,  the  leader  of  the  party  some  of  whose 
baser  members  had  given  the  young  vicomte  unpleas 
ant  minutes  at  Oeller's  Hotel. 

When  very  early  the  next  day  De  Courval  awak 
ened  and  looked  eastward  from  his  room  in  the  sec 
ond  story  of  Mrs.  Swanwick's  home,  he  began  to  see 
in  what  pleasant  places  his  lot  was  cast.  The  house, 
broad  and  roomy,  had  been  a  country  home.  Now 
commerce  and  the  city's  growth  were  contending  for 
Front  Street  south  of  Cedar,  but  being  as  yet  on  the 
edge  of  the  town,  the  spacious  Georgian  house,  stand- 


THE  BED  CITY  39 

ing  back  from  the  street,  was  still  set  round  with  am 
ple  gardens,  on  which  just  now  fell  the  first  sunshine 
of  the  May  morning.  As  De  Courval  saw,  the  ground 
at  the  back  of  the  house  fell  away  to  the  Delaware 
River.  Between  him  and  the  shore  were  flowers,  li 
lacs  in  bloom,  and  many  fruit-trees.  Among  them, 
quite  near  by,  below  the  window,  a  tall,  bareheaded 
man  in  shirt-sleeves  was  busy  gathering  a  basket  of 
the  first  roses.  He  seemed  particular  about  their  ar 
rangement,  and  while  he  thus  pleased  himself,  he 
talked  aloud  in  a  leisurely  way,  and  with  a  strong 
voice,  now  to  a  black  cat  on  the  wall  above  him,  and 
now  as  if  to  the  flowers.  De  Courval  was  much 
amused  by  this  fresh  contribution  to  the  strange  ex 
periences  of  the  last  two  days.  The  language  of  the 
speaker  was  also  odd. 

As  De  Courval  caught  bits  of  the  soliloquy  under 
his  window,  he  thought  of  his  mother's  wonder  at 
this  new  and  surprising  country. 

What  would  she  write  Rochefoucauld  d'Entin? 
She  was  apt  to  be  on  paper,  as  never  in  speech,  emo 
tional  and  tender,  finding  confession  to  white  paper 
easy  and  some  expression  of  the  humorous  aspects  of 
life  possible,  when,  as  in  writing,  there  needed  no 
gay  comment  of  laughter.  If  she  wrere  only  here, 
thought  the  son.  Will  she  tell  the  duke  how  she  is 
"thou"  to  these  good,  plain  folk,  and  of  the  prim 
welcomes,  and  of  this  German,  who  must  be  the 
Friend  Schmidt  they  spoke  of,— no  doubt  a  Quaker, 
and  whom  he  must  presently  remind  of  his  audience  ? 
But  for  a  little  who  could  resist  so  comic  an  oppor 
tunity?  "Gute  Himmel,  but  you  are  beautiful!" 


40  THE  BED  CITY 

said  the  voice  below  him.  * '  Oh7  not  you, ' '  he  cried  to 
the  cat,  "wanton  of  midnight!  I  would  know  if, 
Madame  Red  Rose,  you  are  jealous  of  the  white- 
bosomed  rose  maids.  If  all  women  were  alike  fair  as 
you,  there  would  be  wild  times,  for  who  would  know 
to  choose  ?  Off  with  you,  Jezebel,  daughter  of  dark 
ness  !  'Sh !  I  love  not  cats.  Go ! "  and  he  cast  a  peb 
ble  at  the  sleepy  grimalkin,  which  fled  in  fear.  This 
singular  talk  went  on,  and  De  Courval  was  about 
to  make  some  warning  noise  when  the  gardener,  add 
ing  a  rose  to  his  basket,  straightened  himself,  saying : 
1  i  Ach,  Himmel !  My  back !  How  in  the  garden  Adam 
must  have  ached ! ' ' 

Leaving  his  basket  for  a  time,  he  was  lost  among 
the  trees,  to  reappear  in  a  few  minutes  far  below, 
out  on  the  water  in  a  boat,  where  he  undressed  and 
went  overboard. 

' '  A  good  example, ' '  thought  De  Courval.  Taking 
a  towel,  he  slipped  out  noiselessly  through  the  house 
where  no  one  was  yet  astir,  and  finding  a  little  bath 
house  open  below  the  garden,  was  soon  stripped,  and, 
wading  out,  began  to  swim.  By  this  time  the  gar 
dener  was  returning,  swimming  well  and  with  the 
ease  of  an  expert  when  the  two  came  near  one  an 
other  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from  shore. 

As  they  drew  together,  De  Courval  called  out  in 
alarm :  ' '  Look  out !  Take  care ! ' ' 

Two  small  lads  in  a  large  Egg  Harbor  skiff,  seeing 
the  swimmer  in  their  way,  made  too  late  an  effort  to 
avoid  him.  A  strong  west  wind  was  blowing.  The 
boat  was  moving  fast.  De  Courval  saw  the  heavy 
bow  strike  the  head  of  the  man,  who  was  quite  un- 


THE  RED  CITY  41 

aware  of  the  nearness  of  the  boat.  He  went  under. 
De  Courval  struck  out  for  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
and  in  its  wake  caught  sight  of  a  white 
body  near  the  surface.  He  seized  it,  and 
easily  got  the  man's  head  above  water.  The 
boat  came  about,  the  boys  scared  and  awkward. 
With  his  left  hand,  De  Courval  caught  the  low  gun 
wale  and  with  his  right  held  up  the  man's  head. 
Then  he  felt  the  long  body  stir.  The  great,  laboring 
chest  coughed  out  water,  and  the  man,  merely 
stunned  and,  as  he  said  later,  only  quarter  drowned, 
drew  deep  breaths  and  gasped,  "Let  them  pull  to 
shore."  The  boys  put  out  oars  in  haste,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  De  Courval  felt  the  soft  mud  as  he 
dropped  his  feet  and  stood  beside  the  German.  In  a 
minute  the  two  were  on  the  beach,  the  one  a  young, 
white  figure  with  the  chest  muscles  at  relieving  play ; 
the  other  a  tall,  gaunt,  bronzed  man,  shaking  and 
still  coughing  as  he  cast  himself  on  the  bordering 
grass  without  a  word. 

"Are  you  all  right?"  asked  De  Courval,  anxiously. 

For  a  moment  the  rescued  man  made  no  reply  as 
he  lay  looking  up  at  the  sky.  Then  he  said :  ' '  Yes,  or 
will  be  presently.  This  sun  is  a  good  doctor  and 
sends  in  no  bill.  Go  in  and  dress.  I  shall  be  well 
presently.  My  boat !  Ah,  the  boys  bring  it.  Now 
my  clothes.  Do  not  scold  them.  It  was  an  acci 
dent." 

' '  That  is  of  the  past, ' '  he  said  in  a  few  moments  as 
De  Courval  rejoined  him,  "a  contribution  to  experi 
ence.  Thank  you, ' '  and  he  put  out  a  hand  that  told 
of  anything  but  the  usage  of  toil  as  he  added :  "  I  was 


42  THE  BED  CITY 

wondering,  as  I  dressed,  which  is  the  better  for  it, 
the  helper  or  the  helped.  Ach,  well,  it  is  a  good  in 
troduction.  You  are  mein  Herr  de  Courval,  and  I 
am  Johann  Schmidt,  at  your  honorable  service  now 
and  ever.  Let  us  go  in.  I  must  rest  a  little  before 
breakfast.  I  have  known  you,"— and  he  laughed,— 
"shall  we  say  five  years?  We  will  not  trouble  the 
women  with  it." 

"I?     Surely  not." 

11  Pardon  me.  I  was  thinking  of  my  own  tongue, 
which  is  apt  to  gabble,  being  the  female  part  of  a 
man's  body." 

' '  May  I  beg  of  you  not  to  speak  of  it, ' '  urged  De 
Courval,  gravely. 

"How  may  I  promise  for  the  lady?"  laughed 
Schmidt  as  they  moved  through  the  fruit-trees. 
"Ah,  here  is  the  basket  of  roses  for  the  Frau  Von 
Courval." 

A  singular  person,  thought  the  vicomte,  but 
surely  a  gentleman. 

Madame  de  Courval,  tired  of  looking  for  a  home, 
had  resolved  to  give  no  trouble  to  this  kindly  house 
hold  and  to  accept  their  hours— the  breakfast  at 
seven,  the  noonday  dinner,  the  supper  at  six.  She 
was  already  dressed  when  she  heard  the  step  outside 
of  her  door,  and  looking  up  from  her  Bible,  called 
"Entrez,  my  son.  Ah,  roses,  roses!  Did  you  gather 
them?" 

"No;  they  are  for  you,  with  the  compliments  of 
our  fellow-lodger,  a  German,  I  believe,  Mr.  Schmidt ; 
another  most  strange  person  in  this  strange  land. 
He  speaks  English  well,  but,  man  Dieu,  of  the  odd- 


THE  BED  CITY  43 

est.  A  well-bred  man,  I  am  sure;  you  will  like 
him." 

' '  I  do  not  know,  and  what  matters  it  I  I  like  very 
few  people,  as  yon  know,  Rene;  but  the  place  does 
appear  to  be  clean  and  neat.  That  must  suffice." 

He  knew  well  enough  that  she  liked  few  people. 
"Are  you  ready,  maman  f  Shall  we  go  down?" 

"Yes,  I  am  ready.  This  seems  to  me  a  haven  of 
rest,  Rene— a  haven  of  rest,  after  that  cruel  sea." 

"It  so  seems  to  me,  maman;  and  these  good 
Quakers.  They  tutoyer  every  one — every  one.  You 
must  try  to  learn  English.  I  shall  give  you  lessons, 
and  there  is  a  note  from  Mr.  Wynne,  asking  me  to 
call  at  eleven.  And  one  word  more,  maman — " 

"Well,  my  son?" 

1 1  You  bade  me  put  aside  the  past.  I  shall  do  so ; 
but  you— can  not  you  also  do  the  same?  It  will  be 
hard,  for  you  made  me  make  it  harder." 

"I  know— I  know,  but  you  are  young — I  old  of 
heart.  Life  is  before  you,  my  son.  It  is  behind  me.  I 
can  not  but  think  of  my  two  lonely  little  ones  in  the 
graveyard  and  the  quiet  of  our  home  life  and,  my 
God!  of  your  father!"  To  his  surprise,  she  burst 
into  tears.  Any  such  outward  display  of  emotion 
was  in  his  experience  of  her  more  than  merely  un 
usual.  * '  Go  down  to  breakfast,  Rene.  I  shall  try  to 
live  in  your  life.  You  will  tell  me  everything— al 
ways.  I  shall  follow  you  presently.  We  must  not 
be  late." 

"Yes,"  he  said;  but  he  did  not  tell  her  of  his 
morning's  adventure.  Even  had  he  himself  been 
willing  to  speak  of  it,  the  German  would  not  like 


44  THE  EED  CITY 

it,  and  already  Schmidt  began  to  exercise  over  him 
that  influence  which  was  more  or  less  to  affect  his 
life  in  the  years  yet  to  come.  As  he  went  down  to 
the  broad  hall,  he  saw  a  floor  thinly  strewn  with 
white  sand,  settles  on  both  sides,  a  lantern  hanging 
overhead,  and  the  upper  half  of  the  front  door  open 
to  let  the  morning  air  sweep  through  to  the  garden. 

A  glance  to  right  and  left  showed  on  one  side  a 
bare,  whitewashed  front  room,  without  pictures  or 
mirrors,  some  colonial  chairs  with  shells  carved  on 
feet  and  knees,  and  on  a  small  table  a  china  bowl  of 
roses.  The  room  to  right  he  guessed  at  once  to  be 
used  as  a  sitting-room  by  Schmidt. 

The  furniture  was  much  as  in  the  other  room,  but 
there  were  shining  brass  fire-dogs,  silver  candlesticks 
on  the  mantel,  and  over  it  a  pair  of  foils,  two  silver- 
mounted  pistols,  and  a  rapier  with  a  gold-inlaid 
handle.  Under  a  window  was  a  large  secretary  with 
many  papers.  There  were  books  in  abundance  on 
the  chairs  and  in  a  corner  case.  The  claw-toed  ta 
bles  showed  pipes,  tobacco-jars,  wire  masks,  and  a 
pair  of  fencing-gloves.  On  one  side  of  the  hall  a 
tall  clock  reminded  him  that  he  was  some  ten  min 
utes  late. 

The  little  party  was  about  to  sit  down  at  table 
when  he  entered.  "This  is  Friend  de  Courval," 
said  the  widow. 

"We  have  met  in  the  garden,"  returned  Schmidt, 
quietly. 

"Indeed.  Thou  wilt  sit  by  me,  Friend  de  Cour 
val,  and  presently  thy  mother  on  my  right."  As 
she  spoke,  Madame  de  Courval  paused  at  the  door 


THE  BED  CITY  45 

while  the  hostess  and  her  daughter  bent  in  the  silent 
grace  of  Friends.  The  new-comer  took  her  place 
with  a  pleasant  word  of  morning  greeting  in  her 
pretty  French;  an  old  black  woman  brought  in  the 
breakfast.  A  tranquil  courtesy  prevailed. 

"Will  thy  mother  take  this  or  that?  Here  are 
eggs  my  uncle  sent  from  the  country,  and  shad, 
which  we  have  fresh  from  the  river,  a  fish  we 
esteem. ' ' 

There  was  now  for  a  somewhat  short  time  little 
other  talk.  The  girl  of  over  sixteen  shyly  examined 
the  new-comers.  The  young  man  approved  the  vir 
ginal  curves  of  neck  and  figure,  the  rebellious  pro 
fusion  of  dark  chestnut-tinted  hair,  the  eyes  that 
could  hardly  have  learned  their  busy  attentiveness 
in  the  meeting-house.  The  gray  dress  and  light 
gray  silk  kerchief  seemed  devised  to  set  off  the  roses 
which  came  out  in  wandering  isles  of  color  on  her 
cheeks.  Madame 's  ignorance  of  English  kept  her 
silent,  but  she  took  note  of  the  simple  attire  of  her 
hostess,  the  exquisite  neatness  of  the  green  apron, 
then  common  among  Friends,  and  the  high  cap.  The 
habit  of  the  house  was  to  speak  only  when  there  was 
need.  There  was  no  gossip  even  of  the  mildest. 

"June  was  out  all  night,"  said  Mrs.  Swan  wick. 
"That  is  our  cat,"  she  explained  to  De  Courval. 

' '  But  she  brought  in  a  dead  mouse, ' '  said  the  girl, 
"to  excuse  herself,  I  suppose."  Schmidt  smiled  at 
the  touch  of  humor,  but  during  their  first  meal  was 
more  silent  than  usual. 

"I  did  not  tell  thee,  Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick,  ' '  that  William  Westcott  was  here  yesterday  at 


46  THE  BED  CITY 

sundown.     I  have  no  liking  for  him.     I  said  thou 
wert  out." 

"But  I  was  only  in  the  garden." 

"I  did  say  thou  wert  out,  but  not  in  the  garden." 

Schmidt  smiled  again  as  he  set  his  teaspoon  across 
his  cup,  the  conventional  sign  that  he  wished  no 
more  tea. 

Then  the  girl,  with  fresh  animation,  asked 
eagerly:  "Oh,  mother,  I  forgot;  am  I  to  have  the 
book  Ann  Bingham  thought  delightful,  and  her 
father  told  thee  I  should  read  ? ' ' 

"I  am  not  so  minded,"  replied  the  mother,  and 
this  seemed  to  end  the  matter.  De  Courval  listened, 
amused,  as  again  the  girl  asked  cheerfully : 

"Aunt  Gainor  will  be  here  to  take  me  with  her 
to  see  some  china,  mother,  at  twelve.  May  I  not 
go?" 

"No,  not  to-day.  There  is  the  cider  of  last  fall 
we  must  bottle,  and  I  shall  want  thy  help.  The  last 
time,"  she  said,  smiling,  "thou  didst  fetch  home  a 
heathen  god — green  he  was,  and  had  goggle  eyes. 
What  would  Friend  Pennington  say  to  that?" 

"But  I  do  not  pray  to  it." 

1 1  My  child ! ' '  said  the  mother,  and  then :  "  If  thou 
didst  pray  to  all  Aunt  Gainer's  gods,  thou  wouldst 
be  kept  busy.  I  have  my  hands  full  with  thee  and 
Gainor  Wynne's  fal-lals  and  thy  Uncle  Langstroth's 
follies."  She  smiled  kindly  as  she  spoke,  and  again 
the  girl  quietly  accepted  the  denial  of  her  request, 
while  De  Courval  listened  with  interest  and  amuse 
ment. 

"I  shall  go  with  Miss  Wynne,"  said  Schmidt, 


THE  EED  CITY  47 

"and  buy  you  a  brigade  of  china  gods.  I  will  fill 
the  house  with  them,  Margaret."  He  laughed. 

"Thou  wilt  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Mrs. 
Swanwick. 

"Well,  Nanny  would  break  them  pretty  soon. 
Brief  would  be  the  lives  of  those  immortals.  But  I 
forgot;  I  have  a  book  for  thee,  Pearl." 

De  Courval  looked  up.  "Yes,"  he  thought;  "the 
Pearl,  Marguerite.  It  does  seem  to  suit." 

' '  And  what  is  it  ? "  said  the  mother.  ' '  I  am  a  lit 
tle  afraid  of  thee  and  thy  books. ' ' 

"  'The  Vicar  of  Wakefield'  it  is  called;  not  very 
new,  but  you  will  like  it,  Pearl." 

"I  might  see  it  myself  first." 

"When  Pearl  and  I  think  it  fit  for  thee,"  said 
Schmidt,  demurely.  "I  did  see  also  in  the  shop  Job 
Scott's  'The  Opening  of  the  Inward  Eye,  or  Right 
eousness  Revealed.'  I  would  fetch  thee  that— for 
thyself." 

The  hostess  laughed.  "He  is  very  naughty, 
Friend  de  Courval,"  she  said,  "but  not  as  wicked 
as  he  seems."  Very  clearly  Schmidt  was  a  privi 
leged  inmate.  Madame  ate  with  good  appetite, 
pleased  by  the  attention  showTi  her,  and  a  little  an 
noyed  at  being,  as  it  were,  socially  isolated  for  want 
of  English.  As  she  rose  she  told  her  son  that  she 
had  a  long  letter  she  must  write  to  Cousin  Roche 
foucauld,  and  would  he  ask  Mr.  Wynne  how  it 
might  be  sent.  Then  Schmidt  said  to  De  Courval: 
' '  Come  to  my  room.  There  we  may  smoke,  or  in  the 
garden,  not  elsewhere.  There  is  here  a  despotism; 
you  will  need  to  be  careful. ' ' 


48  THE  BED  CITY 

"Do  not  believe  him,"  said  the  Pearl.  "Mother 
would  let  him  smoke  in  meeting,  if  she  were  over 
seer." 

"Margaret,  Margaret,  thou  art  saucy.  That 
comes  of  being  with  the  Willing  girls  and  Gainor, 
who  is  grown  old  in  sauciness— world's  people!" 
and  her  eyebrows  went  up,  so  that  whether  she  was 
quite  in  earnest  or  was  the  prey  of  some  sudden 
jack-in-the-box  of  pure  humor,  De  Courval  did  not 
know.  It  was  all  fresh,  interesting,  and  somehow 
pleasant.  Were  all  Quakers  like  these? 

He  followed  Schmidt  into  his  sitting-room,  where 
his  host  closed  the  door.  "Sit  down,"  he  said. 
"Not  there.  These  chairs  are  handsome.  I  keep 
them  to  look  at  and  for  the  occasional  amendment 
of  slouching  manners.  Five  minutes  will  answer. 
But  here  are  two  of  my  own  contrivance,  demo 
cratic,  vulgar,  and  comfortable.  Ah,  do  you  smoke  ? 
Yes,  a  pipe.  I  like  that.  I  should  have  been  disap 
pointed  if  you  were  not  a  user  of  the  pipe.  I  am 
going  to  talk,  to  put  you  in  pays  de  connaissance,  as 
you  would  say.  And  now  for  comments!  My  ac 
quaintance  of  five  years,— or  five  minutes,  was  it, 
that  I  was  under  water?— may  justify  the  unload 
ing  of  my  baggage  of  gossip  on  a  man  whom  I 
have  benefited  by  the  chance  of  doing  a  good  deed, 
if  so  it  be— or  a  kind  one  at  least.  You  shall 
learn  in  a  half  hour  what  otherwise  might  require 
weeks. ' ' 

De  Courval,  amused  at  the  occasional  quaintness 
of  the  English,  which  he  was  one  day  to  have  ex 
plained,  blew  rings  of  smoke  and  listened. 


THE  KED  CITY  49 

"I  shall  be  long,  but  it  will  help  you  and  save 
questions. ' ' 

"Pray  go  on,  sir.    I  shall  be  most  thankful." 

"Imprimis,  there  is  Mrs.  Swan  wick,  born  in  the 
Church  of  England,  if  any  are  born  in  church— 
Cyrilla  Plumstead.  She  was  brought  up  in  luxury, 
which  came  to  an  end  before  they  married  her  to  a 
stiff  Quaker  man  who  departed  this  life  with  rea 
sonable  kindness,  after  much  discipline  of  his  wife 
in  ways  which  sweeten  many  and  sour  some.  She 
has  held  to  it  loyally — oh,  more  or  less.  That  is  the 
setting  of  our  Pearl,  a  creature  of  divine  natural 
ness,  waiting  until  some  Quaker  Cupid  twangs  his 
bow.  Then  the  kiss-defying  bonnet  will  suffer.  By 
the  way,  Mrs.  Swanwick  is  a  fair  French  scholar, 
but  a  bit  shy  with  you  as  yet. 

"Soon  thou  wilt  see  Josiah  Langstroth,  uncle  of 
Mrs.  Swanwick.  Ah,  there  's  a  man  that  mocks  con 
jecture;  for,  being  a  Quaker  by  pride  of  ancestral 
damnation,  he  goes  to  meeting  twice  a  year,  swears 
a  little  to  ease  his  soul,  toasts  George  the  Third  of 
Sundays,  and  will  surely  tell  you  how,  driven  out  of 
the  country,  he  went  to  London  and  was  presented 
to  the  king  and  triumphantly  kept  his  hat  on  his 
head.  He  is  rich  and  would  provide  for  his  niece, 
who  will  take  help  from  no  one.  He  does  at  times 
offer  money,  but  is  ever  well  pleased  when  she  re 
fuses.  As  for  Hugh  "Wynne,  I  will  go  with  you  to 
see  him,  a  Welsh  squire  to  this  day,  like  the  best  of 
them  here.  I  shall  leave  you  to  make  him  out.  He 
is  a  far-away  cousin  of  Margaret's  mother. 

"It  is  a  fine  menagerie.    Very  soon  you  will  hear 


50  THE  EED  CITY 

of  Aunt  Gainor  Wynne,— every  one  calls  her  aunt; 
I  should  not  dare  to  do  so,— a  sturdy  Federalist 
lady,  with  a  passion  for  old  china,  horses,  and 
matchmaking,  the  godmother  of  Mrs.  Swanwick. 
Take  care ;  she  will  hate  or  love  you  at  sight,  and  as 
great  a  maker  of  mischief  as  ever  perplexed  good 
sense;  as  tender  an  old  woman  at  times  as  ever 
lacked  need  of  onions  to  fetch  tears;  a  fine  lady 
when  she  chooses. 

[  *  There,  I  have  done  you  a  service  and  saved  your 
wits  industry.  You  listen  well.  There  is  a  savor  of 
grace  in  that.  It  is  a  virtue  of  the  smoker.  Ques 
tion  me  if  you  like. " 

Nothing  could  better  have  pleased  the  young 
man. 

"I  would  know  more  of  this  town,  sir,"  and  he 
told  of  his  quest  of  a  tavern.  The  German  laughed. 

"A  good  lesson — Federalists  and  ape  democrats 
— wild  politics  of  a  nation  in  its  childhood.  Three 
great  men, — Washington,  Hamilton,  James  Wilson, 
and  perhaps  John  Adams;  well— great  merchants, 
Willings,  Bingham,  and  Girard;  and  besides  these, 
Quakers,  many  of  them  nobler  for  a  creed  unwork 
able  in  a  naughty  world,  with  offshoots  of  'world's 
people,'  which  saved  some  fortunes  in  the  war;  and, 
ah,  a  sect  that  will  die  away,— Free  Quakers,  high- 
minded  gentlemen  who  made  up  for  a  century  of 
peace  when  they  elected  to  draw  the  sword.  I  fear 
I  have  been  tedious." 

"No,  not  at  all;  you  are  most  kind,  sir,  and  most 
interesting.  I  am  sure  to  like  it  all.  I  hope  my 
mother  will  be  contented.  We  have  never  of  late 
years  been  used  to  luxuries." 


THE  BED  CITY  51 

"She  can  hardly  fail  to  be  satisfied;  but  it  is  a 
simple  life.  There  are  only  two  servants,  Cicero, 
and  Nanny,  once  a  slave,  now,  as  Mrs.  Swanwick 
says,  a  servant  friend— ah,  and  a  stiff  Episcopal. 
She  has  never  ceased  to  wonder  why  her  mistress 
ever  became  a  Quaker.  I  am  much  of  her  way  of 
thinking.  Are  you  of  a  mind  to  walk  and  see  a  little 
of  the  city?  Later  we  will  call  upon  Mr.  Wynne." 
As  they  rose,  he  added:  "I  did  not  speak  of  the 
wrecks  of  French  nobles  cast  on  these  shores— only 
a  few  as  yet.  You  will  see  them  by  and  by.  They 
are  various — but  in  general  perplexed  by  inheri 
tance  of  helplessness.  Once  for  all  you  are  to  under 
stand  that  my  room  is  always  and  equally  yours. 
Of  course  you  use  the  foils.  Yes;  well,  we  shall 
fence  in  the  garden.  And  now  come ;  let  us  go  out. ' ' 

*  *  I  forgot,  sir.  My  mother  bade  me  thank  you  for 
the  roses.  She  has  as  yet  no  English,  or  would  her 
self  have  thanked  you." 

"But  I  myself  speak  French— of  a  kind.  It  will 
serve  to  amuse  madame;  but  never  will  you  hear 
French  at  its  best  until  Miss  Wynne  does  talk  it." 


IV 


AS  they  went  northward  on  Front  Street,  with 
^LjLthe  broad  Delaware  to  the  right,  for  as  yet  no 
Water  Street  narrowed  the  river  frontage,  the  Ger 
man  said:  "I  left  out  of  my  portrait  gallery  one 
Schmidt,  but  you  will  come  to  know  him  in  time. 
He  has  a  talent  for  intimacy.  Come,  now;  you 
have  known  him  five  years.  What  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

More  and  more  strange  seemed  this  gentleman  to 
his  young  companion.  He  glanced  aside  at  the  tall, 
strongly  built  man,  with  the  merry  blue  eyes,  and, 
a  little  embarrassed  and  somewhat  amused,  replied 
with  habitual  caution,  "I  hardly  know  as  yet,  but 
I  think  I  shall  like  him." 

"I  like  the  answer.  You  will  like  him,  but  we 
may  leave  him  and  time  to  beget  opinion.  How  dig 
nified  these  Georgian  fronts  are,  and  the  stoops! 
Once  folks  sat  on  them  at  evening,  and  gossiped  of 
the  miseries  of  war.  Now  there  are  changed  ways 
and  more  luxury  and  a  new  day— less  simpleness; 
but  not  among  the  good  people  we  have  left.  No. 
They  are  of  the  best,  and  aristocrats,  too,  though 
you  may  not  suspect  it.  The  habit  of  hospitality  in 
a  new  land  remains.  A  lady  with  small  means  loses 
no  social  place  because,  like  our  hostess,  she  receives 


THE  BED  CITY  53 

guests  who  pay.  Here  will  come  rich  kinsfolk  and 
friends,  visitors  on  even  terms — Whartons,  Morrises, 
Cadwaladers,  Logans,— the  old,  proud  Welsh, 
grandsons  of  Welsh,  with  at  times  Quaker  people 
and  the  men  in  office,  for  madame  is  clever  and  well 
liked.  I  tell  her  she  has  a  Quaker  salon,  which  is 
not  my  wit,  but  true." 

"I  had  supposed  Friends  too  rigid  for  this." 

"Oh,  there  are  Quakers  and  Quakers,  and  some 
times  the  overseers  feel  called  upon  to  remonstrate; 
and  then  there  is  an  unpleasantness,  and  our  hostess 
is  all  of  a  sudden  moved  by  the  spirit  to  say  things, 
and  has  her  claws  out.  And  my  rose,  my  rose  Pearl, 
can  be  prickly,  too." 

"She  does  not  look  like  it,  sir." 

"No?  When  does  a  young  woman  look  like  what 
she  is  or  may  be?  She  is  a  good  girl— as  good  as 
God  makes  them;  her  wits  as  yet  a  bit  muzzled  by 
the  custom  of  Friends.  A  fair  bud— prophetic  of 
what  the  rose  will  be." 

They  wandered  on  to  Arch  Street  and  then  west 
ward.  "Here,"  said  Schmidt,  as  they  turned  into 
the  open  entrance  of  a  graveyard— "here  I  come  at 
evening  sometimes.  Read  that.  There  are  sermons 
in  these  stones,  and  history." 

De  Courval  saw  on  a  gray  slab,  ' '  Benjamin  Frank 
lin  and  Deborah,  his  wife."  He  took  off  his  hat, 
saying  as  he  stood:  "My  father  knew  him.  He 
came  to  Normandy  once  to  see  the  model  farms  of 
our  cousin,  Rochefoucauld  Liancourt. " 

"Indeed.  I  never  knew  the  philosopher,  but  the 
duke— I  knew  the  duke  well,— in  Paris,— oh,  very 


54  THE  EED  CITY 

well,  long  ago ;  a  high-minded  noble.  We  will  come 
here  again  and  talk  of  this  great  man,  under  the 
marble,  quiet  as  never  in  life.  You  must  not  be  late 
for  Wynne.  He  will  not  like  that." 

Turning  southward  and  walking  quickly,  they 
came  in  half  an  hour  to  the  busy  space  in  front  of 
Wynne's  warehouse.  He  met  them  at  the  door, 
where  Schmidt,  leaving  them,  said,  "I  leave  you  a 
man,  Colonel  Wynne." 

Wynne  said,  smiling:  "I  am  no  longer  a  colonel, 
Vicomte,  but  a  plain  merchant.  Have  the  kindness 
to  follow  me,  Vicomte,"  and  so  passed  on  through 
a  room  where  clerks  were  busy  and  into  a  small, 
neatly  kept  office. 

"Sit  down,  Vicomte.  We  must  have  a  long  talk 
and  come  quickly  to  know  one  another.  You  speak 
English,  I  observe,  and  well,  too.  And,  now,  you 
have  a  letter  of  exchange  on  me  for  five  thousand 
livres,  or,  rather,  two  hundred  pounds.  Better  to 
leave  it  with  me.  I  can  give  you  interest  at  six  per 
cent.,  and  you  may  draw  on  me  at  need.  Have  you 
any  present  want?" 

"No,  sir;  none— just  yet  none." 

"I  am  told  that  you  left  France  for  England  and 
have  had,  pardon  me,  much  to  lament." 

"Yes,  we  have  suffered  like  many  others."  He 
was  indisposed  to  be  frank  where  there  was  no  need 
to  say  more. 

"What  do  you  purpose  to  do?  A  few  thousand 
livres  will  not  go  far. ' ' 

"I  do  not  know.  Anything  which  will  help  us  to 
live." 


THE  EED  CITY  55 

" Anything?  You  may  teach  French  like  De 
Laisne,  or  fencing  like  Du  Vallon,  or  dancing  like 
the  Marquis  de  Beau  Castel.  I  offered  him  a  clerk 
ship." 

"Offer  me  one,"  said  De  Courval.  "I  write  a 
good  hand.  I  speak  and  write  English.  I  can  learn, 
and  I  will." 

Wynne  took  stock,  as  he  would  have  said,  of  the 
rather  serious  face,  of  the  eyes  of  gray  which  met  his 
look,  of  a  certain  eagerness  in  the  young  man's 
prompt  seizure  of  a  novel  opportunity. 

"Can  you  serve  under  a  plain  man  like  my  head 
clerk,  run  errands,  obey  without  question — in  a 
word,  accept  a  master?" 

' '  I  have  had  two  bitter  ones,  sir,  poverty  and  mis 
fortune." 

"Can  you  come  at  eight  thirty,  sweep  out  the  of 
fice,  make  the  fires  at  need  in  winter,  with  an  hour 
off,  at  noon,  and  work  till  six?  Such  is  our  way 
here." 

The  young  man  flushed.     "Is  that  required?" 

"I  did  it  for  a  year,  Vicomte,  and  used  the  sword 
for  five  years,  and  came  back  to  prosper." 

De  Courval  smiled.  ' '  I  accept,  sir ;  we  have  never 
been  rich,  and  I  ought  to  say  that  we  are  not  of  the 
greater  noblesse.  When  our  fortunes  fell  away,  I 
worked  with  our  peasants  in  the  field.  I  have  no 
false  pride,  and  my  sword  is  in  a  box  in  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick's  attic.  I  fancy,  sir,  that  I  shall  have  no  use 
for  it  here.  Why  gentlemen  should  prefer  to  teach 
French  or  dancing  to  good  steady  work  I  cannc": 
understand." 


56  THE  KED  CITY 

"Nor  I,"  said  Wynne,  beginning  to  like  this 
grave  and  decisive  young  noble.  "Think  it  over," 
he  said. 

"I  have  done  so." 

"Very  good.  You  will  receive  thirty  dollars  a 
month— to  be  increased,  I  trust.  When  will  yo1! 
come?" 

"To-morrow— at  eight  and  a  half,  you  said." 

"Yes;  but  to-morrow  a  little  earlier.  The  junior 
clerk  you  replace  will  tell  you  what  you  are  to  do, 
and  for  the  rest  Mr.  Potts  will  give  you  your  orders. 
A  word  more :  you  had  better  drop  your  title  and  be 
plain  Mr.  de  Courval.  When,  as  will  chance,  you  go 
among  our  friends,  it  would  be  an  affectation.  Well, 
then,  to-morrow;  but,— and  you  will  pardon  me,— 
to-day  we  are  two  gentlemen,  equals;  to-morrow, 
here  at  least,  you  are  a  simple  clerk  among  exact 
and  industrious  people,  and  I  the  master.  Let  us  be 
clear  as  to  this.  That  is  all. ' ' 

"I  think  I  understand.  And  now  may  I  ask  how 
I  may  find  the  French  minister?  There  is  a  letter 
my  mother  would  send  to  her  cousin,  and  I  am  at 
a  loss,  for  I  fear  there  are  no  mails  I  can  trust. ' ' 

"Jean  de  Ternant  is  the  French  minister,  but  he 
will  hardly  be  likely  to  oblige  a  ci-devant  vicomte. 
They  talk  of  a  new  one.  Give  it  to  me;  I  will  see 
that  it  goes  by  safe  hands."  With  this  he  rose  and 
added :  '  *  Mrs.  Wynne  will  have  the  honor  to  call  on 
the  vicomtesse,  and  we  shall  be  at  her  service. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  said  De  Courval,  a  little  overcome 
by  his  kindness.  "My  mother  is  in  mourning,  sir. 
She  will,  I  fear,  be  unwilling  to  visit." 


THE  BED  CITY  57 

"Then  my  wife  will  come  again.  We  may  leave 
two  good  women  to  settle  that;  and  now  I  must  let 
you  go."  Then,  seeing  that  De  Courval  lingered, 
he  added,  "Is  there  anything  else?" 

' '  Only  a  word  of  thanks,  and  may  I  ask  why  you 
are  so  good  to  us  ?  I  am— sadly  unused  to  kindness. 
There  was  not  much  of  it  in  England." 

Wynne  smiled.  "I  have  heard  a  little  about  you 
—some  things  I  liked— from  my  correspondents  in 
Bristol  and  London;  and,  Vicomte,  my  mother  was 
French.  When  you  visit  us  at  Merion  you  shall  see 
her  picture  Stuart  made  for  me  from  a  miniature, 
and  then  you  will  understand  why  my  heart  goes 
out  to  all  French  people.  But  they  are  not  easy  to 
help,  these  unlucky  nobles  who  will  neither  beg  nor 
do  a  man 's  work.  Oh,  you  will  see  them,  and  I,  too, 
more  and  more,  I  fear.  Good  morning." 

With  this  the  young  man  walked  thoughtfully 
away.  Hugh  Wynne  watched  him  for  a  moment, 
and  said  to  himself,  "A  good  deal  of  a  man,  that; 
Schmidt  is  right."  And  then,  having  seen  much  of 
men  in  war  and  peace,  "there  must  be  another  side 
to  him,  as  there  was  to  me.  I  doubt  he  is  all  meek 
ness.  I  must  say  a  word  to  Mary  Swanwick,"  and 
he  remembered  certain  comments  his  wife  had  made 
on  Margaret's  budding  beauty.  Then  he  went  in. 

The  thoughts  of  the  young  man  were  far  from 
women.  He  went  along  the  road  beside  Dock  Creek, 
and  stood  a  moment  on  the  bridge,  amused  at  the 
busy  throng  of  which  he  was  now  to  become  a  part. 
On  the  west  side  of  Second  Street  a  noisy  crowd  at 
a  shop  door  excited  his  curiosity. 


58  THE  RED  CITY 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  a  passing  mechanic.  "I 
am  a  stranger  here." 

' '  Oh,  that  ?s  a  vandoo  of  lottery  shares.  The  odd 
numbers  sell  high,  specially  the  threes.  That  's 
what  they  're  after." 

"Thank  you,"  said  De  Courval,  and  then,  as  he 
drew  nearer,  exclaimed,  "Mon  Dieu!"  The  auc 
tioneer  was  perched  on  a  barrel.  Just  below  him 
stood  a  young  Frenchman  eagerly  bidding  on  the 
coveted  number  33.  Not  until  De  Courval  was  be 
side  him  was  he  disillusioned.  It  was  not  Carteaux, 
nor  was  the  man,  on  nearer  view,  very  like  him. 
"When  clear  of  the  small  crowd,  De  Courval  moved 
away  slowly,  vexed  with  himself  and  disturbed  by 
one  of  those  abrupt  self-revelations  which  prove  to 
a  man  how  near  he  may  be  to  emotional  insurrec 
tion. 

"If  it  had  been  he,"  he  murmured,  "I  should 
have  strangled  him,  ah,  there  at  once."  He  had 
been  imprudent,  lacking  in  intelligence.  He  felt, 
too,  how  slightly  impressed  he  had  been  by  his 
mother's  desire  that  he  should  dismiss  from  his  life 
the  dark  hour  of  Avignon.  More  than  a  little  dis 
satisfied,  he  put  it  all  resolutely  aside  and  began  to 
reconsider  the  mercantile  career  before  him.  He 
was  about  to  give  up  the  social  creed  and  ways  in 
which  he  had  been  educated.  He  had  never  earned 
a  sou,  and  was  now  to  become  a  part  of  the  life  of 
trade,  a  thing  which  at  one  time  would  have  seemed 
to  him  impossible.  Would  his  mother  like  it?  No; 
but  for  that  there  was  no  help,  and  some  of  it  he 
would  keep  to  himself.  Thirty  dollars  would  pay 


THE  EED  CITY  59 

his  own  board,  and  he  must  draw  on  his  small  re 
serve  until  he  made  more.  But  there  were  clothes 
to  get  and  he  knew  not  what  besides;  nor  did  he 
altogether  like  it  himself.  He  had  served  in  the 
army  two  years,  and  had  then  been  called  home, 
where  he  was  sorely  needed.  It  would  have  been 
strange  if,  with  his  training  and  traditions,  he  had 
felt  no  repugnance  at  this  prospect  of  a  trader 's  life. 
But  it  was  this  or  nothing,  and  having  made  his 
choice,  he  meant  to  abide  by  it.  And  thus,  having 
settled  the  matter,  he  went  on  his  way,  taking  in 
with  observant  eyes  the  wonders  of  this  new  coun 
try. 

He  made  for  his  mother  a  neat  little  tale  of  how 
he  was  to  oblige  Mr.  Wynne  by  translating  or  writ 
ing  French  letters.  Yes,  the  hours  were  long,  but 
he  was  sure  he  should  like  it,  and  Mrs.  Swanwick 
would,  she  had  said,  give  him  breakfast  in  time  for 
him  to  be  at  his  work  by  half  after  eight  o'clock; 
and  where  was  the  letter  which  should  be  sent,  and 
Mrs.  Wynne  would  call.  The  vicomtesse  wished  for 
no  company,  and  least  of  all  for  even  the  most  re 
spectable  bourgeois  society;  but  she  supposed  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  and  the  boarding-house  was  very 
well,  indeed,  restful,  and  the  people  quiet.  Would 
she  be  expected  to  say  thou  to  them?  Her  son 
thought  not,  and  after  a  rather  silent  noon  dinner 
went  out  for  a  pull  on  the  river  with  Schmidt,  and 
bobbed  for  crabs  to  his  satisfaction,  while  Schmidt 
at  intervals  let  fall  his  queer  phrases  as  the  crabs 
let  go  the  bait  and  slid  off  sideways. 
, ' l  There  is  a  man  comes  here  to  pester  Mrs.  Swan- 


v 


60  THE  BED  CITY 

wick  at  times.  He  goes  out  of  the  doors  sideways, 
there,  like  that  fellow  in  the  water— Monsieur  Crab, 
I  call  him.  He  is  meek  and  has  claws  which  are 
critical  and  pinch  until  madame  boils  over,  and  then 
he  gets  red  like  a  crab.  That  was  when  Pearl  had 
of  Miss  Gainor  a  gold  locket  and  a  red  ribbon,  and 
wore  it  on  a  day  when  with  Miss  Gainor  the  -girl 
was  by  evil  luck  seen  of  our  Quaker  crab. 

"But  not  all  are  like  that.  There  is  one,  Israel 
Morris,  who  looks  like  a  man  out  of  those  pictures 
by  Vandyke  you  must  have  seen,  and  with  the  gen 
tleness  of  a  saint.  Were  I  as  good  as  he,  I  should 
like  to  die,  for  fear  I  could  not  keep  it  up.  Ah 
you  got  a  nip.  They  can  bite.  It  can  not  be  entirely 
true— I  mean  that  man's  goodness;  but  it  is  natu 
rally  performed.  The  wife  is  a  fair  test  of  humility. 
I  wonder  how  his  virtue  prospers  at  home." 

De  Courval  listened,  again  in  wonder  where  had 
been  learned  this  English,  occasionally  rich  with  odd 
phrases ;  for  usually  Schmidt  spoke  a  fluent  English, 
but  always  with  some  flavor  of  his  own  tongue. 

The  supper  amused  the  young  man,  who  was  be 
ginning  to  be  curious  and  observant  of  these  inter 
esting  and  straightforward  people.  There  were  at 
times  long  silences.  The  light  give  and  take  of  the 
better  chat  of  the  well-bred  at  home  in  France  was 
wanting.  His  mother  could  not  talk,  and  there  were 
no  subjects  of  common  interest.  He  found  it  dull 
at  first,  being  himself  just  now  in  a  gay  humor. 

After  the  meal  he  ventured  to  admire  the  buff- 
and-gold  china  in  a  corner  cupboard,  and  then  two 
great  silver  tankards  on  a  sideboard.  Mrs.  Swan- 


THE  BED  CITY  61 

wick  was  pleased.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "they  are  of 
Queen  Anne's  day,  and  the  arms  they  carry  are  of 
the  Plumsteads  and  Swanwieks. " 

He  called  his  mother 's  attention  to  them.  '  *  But, ' ' 
she  said,  of  course  in  French,  "what  have  these  peo 
ple  to  do  with  arms  ? ' ' 

"Take  care,"  he  returned  under  his  breath. 
"Madame  speaks  French." 

Mrs.  Swanwick,  who  had  a  fair  knowledge  of  the 
tongue,  quickly  caught  her  meaning,  but  said  with  a 
ready  smile :  l '  Ah,  they  have  had  adventures.  When 
my  husband  would  not  pay  the  war  tax,  as  Friends 
would  not,  the  vendue  master  took  away  these  tank 
ards  and  sold  them.  But  when  the  English  came 
in,  Major  Andre  bought  them.  That  was  when  he 
stole  Benjamin  Franklin's  picture,  and  so  at  last 
Gainor  Wynne,  in  London,  years  after,  saw  my  arms 
on  them  in  a  shop  and  bought  them  back,  and  now 
they  are  Margaret's." 

De  Courval  gaily  related  the  tale  to  his  mother 
and  then  went  away  with  her  to  her  room,  she  ex 
claiming  on  the  stair:  "The  woman  has  good  man 
ners.  She  understood  me." 

The  woman  and  Pearl  were  meanwhile  laughing 
joyously  over  the  sad  lady's  criticism.  When  once 
in  her  bed-room,  the  vicomtesse  said  that  on  the 
morrow  she  would  rest  in  bed.  Something,  perhaps 
the  voyage  and  all  this  new  life,  had  been  too  much 
for  her,  and  she  had  a  little  fever.  A  tisane,  yes, 
if  only  she  had  a  tisane,  but  who  would  know  how 
to  make  one?  No,  he  must  tell  no  one  that  she  was 
not  well. 


62  THE  EED  CITY 

He  left  her  feeling  that  here  was  a  new  trouble 
and  went  down -stairs  to  join  Schmidt.  No  doubt 
she  was  really  tired,  but  what  if  it  were  something 
worse?  One  disaster  after  another  had  left  him 
with  the  belief  that  he  was  marked  out  by  fate  for 
calamitous  fortunes. 

Schmidt  cheered  him  with  his  constant  hopeful 
ness,  and  in  the  morning  he  must  not  fail  Mr. 
Wynne,  and  at  need  Schmidt  would  get  a  doctor. 
Then  he  interested  him  with  able  talk  about  the 
stormy  politics  of  the  day,  and  for  a  time  they 
smoked  in  silence.  At  last,  observing  his  continued 
depression,  Schmidt  said:  "Take  this  to  bed  with 
you— At  night  is  despair,  at  morning  hope— a  good 
word  to  sleep  on.  Let  the  morrow  take  care  of  itself. 
Bury  thy  cares  in  the  graveyard  of  sleep."  Then 
he  added  with  seriousness  rare  to  him:  "You  have 
the  lesson  of  the  mid-years  of  life  yet  to  learn— to  be 
of  all  thought  the  despot.  Never  is  man  his  own 
master  till,  like  the  centurion  with  his  soldiers,  he 
can  say  to  joy  come  and  to  grief  or  anger  or  anxiety 
go,  and  be  obeyed  of  these.  You  may  think  it  sin 
gular  that  I,  a  three-days'  acquaintance,  talk  thus 
to  a  stranger ;  but  the  debt  is  all  one  way  so  far, 
and  my  excuse  is  those  five  years  under  water,  and, 
too,  that  this  preacher  in  his  time  has  suffered. ' ' 

Unused  till  of  late  to  sympathy,  and  surprised  out 
of  the  reserve  both  of  the  habit  of  caste  and  of  his 
own  natural  reticence,  De  Courval  felt  again  the 
emotion  of  a  man  made,  despite  himself,  to  feel  how 
the  influence  of  honest  kindness  had  ended  his  power 
to  speak. 


THE  RED  CITY  63 

In  the  dim  candle-light  he  looked  at  the  speaker— 
tall,  grave,  the  eagle  nose,  the  large  mouth,  the 
heavy  chin,  a  face  of  command,  with  now  a  little 
watching  softness  in  the  eyes. 

He  felt  later  the  goodness  and  the  wisdom  of  the 
German's  advice.  "I  will  try,"  he  said;  "but  it 
does  seem  as  if  there  were  little  but  trouble  in  the 
world,"  and  with  this  went  away  to  bed. 

Then  Schmidt  found  Mrs.  Swanwick  busy  over  a 
book  and  said:  "Madame  de  Courval  is  not  well,  I 
fear.  Would  you  kindly  see  to  her  1 ' ' 

"At  once,"  she  said,  rising. 


THE  young  man's  anxiety  about  his  mother  kept 
him  long  awake,  and  his  sleep  was  troubled,  as 
at  times  later,  by  a  dream  of  Carteaux  facing  him 
with  a  smile,  and  by  that  strange  sense  of  physical 
impotence  which  sometimes  haunts  the  dreamer  who 
feels  the  need  for  action  and  cannot  stir. 

When  at  six  in  the  morning  De  Courval  went 
down-stairs,  he  met  Mrs.  Swanwick.  She  turned, 
and  when  in  the  hall  said:  "I  have  been  with  thy 
mother  all  night,  and  now  Margaret  is  with  her, 
but  thou  wilt  do  no  harm  to  enter.  She  does  not 
seem  to  me  very  ill,  but  we  must  have  a  doctor,  and 
one  who  has  her  language.  When  after  a  little 
sleep  she  wakens,  she  wanders,  and  then  is  clear 
again."  Seeing  his  look  of  anxiety,  she  added,  "Be 
sure  that  we  shall  care  for  her. ' ' 

He  said  no  word  of  the  pain  he  felt  and  scarce 
more  than  a  word  of  his  gratitude,  but,  going  up 
stairs  again,  knocked  softly  at  a  chamber  door. 

"Come  in,"  he  heard,  and  entered.  A  low  voice 
whispered,  "She  is  just  awake,"  and  the  slight, 
gray  figure  of  the  girl  went  by  him,  the  door  gently 
closing  behind  her.  In  the  dim  light  he  sat  down 
by  his  mother's  bed,  and  taking  a  hot  hand  in  his, 
heard  her  murmur:  "Mon  fils—my  son.  Angels— 

64 


THE  BED  CITY  65 

angels!  I  was  a  stranger,  and  they  took  me  in; 
naked  and  they  clothed  me,  yes,  yes,  with  kindness. 
What  name  did  you  say?  Carteaux.  Is  he  dead— 
Carteaux?" 

The  young  man  had  a  thrill  of  horror.  ' '  Mother, ' ' 
he  said,  "it  is  I,  Rene." 

"Ah,"  she  exclaimed,  starting  up,  "I  was  dream 
ing.  These  good  people  were  with  me  all  night. 
You  must  thank  them  and  see  that  they  are  well 
paid.  Do  not  forget— well  paid— and  a  tisane.  If 
I  had  but  a  tisane  de  guimauve!" 

"Yes,  yes, ' '  he  said ;  " we  shall  see.  Perhaps  some 
lemonade. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes;  go  at  once  and  order  it."  She  was 
imperative,  and  her  voice  had  lost  its  sweetness  for 
a  time.  * '  I  must  not  be  made  to  wait. ' ' 

"Very  well,  maman."  As  he  went  out,  the  gray 
figure  passed  in,  saying,  "She  is  better  this  morn 
ing,  and  I  am  so  grieved  for  thee. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  he  murmured,  and  went  down 
stairs,  seeing  no  one,  and  out  to  a  seat  in  the  garden, 
to  think  what  he  should  do.  Yes,  there  must  be  a 
doctor.  And  Carteaux— what  a  fool  he  had  been 
to  tell  her  his  name!  The  name  and  the  cropped 
hair  of  the  Jacobin,  the  regular  features,  by  no 
means  vulgar,  the  blood-red  eyes  of  greed  for  mur 
der,  he  saw  again  as  in  that  fatal  hour.  Whenever 
any  new  calamity  had  fallen  upon  him,  the  shrill 
murder-counseling  voice  was  with  him,  heard  at 
times  like  a  note  of  discord  even  in  later  days  of  re 
lief  from  anxiety,  or  in  some  gay  moment  of  mirth. 
"He  was  wise,"  he  murmured,  remembering  the 


66  THE  BED  CITY 

German's  counsel,  and  resolutely  put  aside  the  dis 
turbing  thought.  At  last  Nanny,  the  black  maid, 
called  him  to  breakfast.  He  was  alone  with  Schmidt 
and  Mrs.  Swanwick.  They  discussed  quietly  what 
doctor  they  should  call;  not  their  friend,  Dr.  Red 
man,  as  neither  he  nor  Dr.  Rush  spoke  French. 
Schmidt  said:  "I  have  sent  a  note  to  Mr.  Wynne 
not  to  expect  you.  Set  your  mind  at  ease. ' ' 

There  was  need  of  the  advice.  De  Courval  felt 
the  helplessness  of  a  young  man  in  the  presence 
of  a  woman's  illness.  He  sat  still  in  his  chair  at 
breakfast,  hardly  hearing  the  German's  efforts  to 
reassure  him. 

It  was  near  to  eight.  Nanny  had  gone  up  to  re 
lieve  Margaret,  who  presently  came  in,  saying, 
"Aunt  Gainor  is  without,  back  from  her  morning 
ride." 

There  was  a  heavy  footfall  in  the  hall  and  a  clear, 
resonant  voice,  "Mary  Swanwick,  where  are  you?" 

In  the  doorway,  kept  open  for  the  summer  air  to 
sweep  through,  the  large  figure  of  Gainor  Wynne 
appeared  in  riding  skirt  and  low  beaver  hat,  a 
heavy  whip  in  her  hand.  The  years  had  dealt 
lightly  with  the  woman,  now  far  past  middle  life. 
There  was  a  mass  of  hair  time  had  powdered,  the 
florid  face,  the  high  nose  of  her  race,  the  tall,  erect, 
massive  build,  giving  to  the  observant  a  sense  of 
masculine  vigor.  On  rare  occasions  there  was  also 
a  perplexing  realization  of  infinite  feminine  tender 
ness,  and,  when  she  pleased,  the  ways  and  manners 
of  an  unmistakable  gentlewoman. 

As  the  two  men  rose,  Mrs.  Swanwick  said  quietly, 
"Aunt  Gainor,  Madame  de  Courval  is  ill." 


THE  EED  CITY  67 

"As  much  as  to  say,  'Do  not  roam  through  the 
house  and  shout.'  ' 

"This  is  Friend  de  Courval,"  said  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick. 

"You  must  pardon  me,  Vicomte,"  said  Miss 
Wynne.  "You  must  pardon  a  rude  old  woman.  I 
am  Hugh  Wynne's  aunt.  May  I  ask  about  your 
mother?  Is  she  very  ill?  I  meant  to  call  on  her 
shortly.  I  am  heartily  at  your  service." 

' '  I  fear  she  is  very  ill, ' '  he  replied. 

"Have  you  a  doctor?" 

"We  were  just  now  thinking  whom  we  should 
have,"  said  Mrs.  Swanwick.  "The  vicomtesse 
speaks  no  English." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mistress  Wynne;  "who  shall  we 
have?  Not  Dr.  Rush.  He  would  bleed  her,  and  his 
French— la,  my  cat  can  meow  better  French.  Ah, 
I  have  it.  I  will  fetch  Chovet.  We  have  not  spoken 
for  a  month,  because — but  no  matter,  he  will  come." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  thank  this  reso 
lute  lady.  "I  will  send  for  him  at  once,  Aunt 
Gainor, ' '  said  Mrs.  Swanwick. 

To  De  Courval 's  surprise,  it  was  Margaret  who 
answered.  "He  will  come  the  quicker  for  Aunt 
Gainor,  mother.  Every  one  does  as  she  wants." 
This  was  to  De  Courval. 

"Except  you,  you  demure  little  Quaker  kitten.  I 
must  go, ' '  and  the  masterful  woman  in  question  was 
out  of  the  house  in  a  moment,  followed  by  Schmidt 
and  De  Courval. 

"A  chair.  I  can't  mount  as  I  used  to."  Her 
black  groom  brought  out  a  chair.  In  a  moment  she 
was  on  the  back  of  the  powerfully  built  stallion  and 


68  THE  EED  CITY 

clattering  up  Front  Street  with  perilous  indifference 
to  an  ill-paved  road  and  any  unwatchful  foot-pas 
senger.  She  struck  up  Spruce  Street  and  the  un- 
paved  road  then  called  Delaware  Fifth  Street  and 
so  down  Arch.  It  was  mid-morning,  and  the  street 
full  of  vehicles  and  people  a-foot.  Suddenly,  when 
near  her  own  house,  she  checked  her  horse  as  she 
saw  approaching  a  chaise  with  leather  springs,  the 
top  thrown  back,  and  in  front  a  sorry-looking  white 
horse.  Within  sat  a  man  who  would  have  served 
for  the  English  stage  presentation  of  a  Frenchman 
—a  spare  figure,  little,  with  very  red  cheeks  under  a 
powdered  wig;  he  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  the 
most  extravagant  fashion  of  a  day  fond  of  color. 
The  conventional  gold-headed  cane  of  the  physician 
lay  between  his  legs.  At  sight  of  Mistress  Wynne 
he  applied  the  whip  and  called  out  to  his  horse  in  a 
shrill  voice,  " Allez.  Get  on,  Qa  Ira!" 

The  spinster  cried  to  him  as  they  came  near: 
"Stop,  stop,  Doctor!  I  want  you.  Stop— do  you 
hear  me?" 

He  had  not  forgotten  a  recent  and  somewhat  fierce 
political  passage  of  arms,  and  turned  to  go  by  her. 
With  a  quick  movement  she  threw  the  big  stallion 
in  front  of  Qa  Ira,  who  reared,  stopped  short,  and 
cast  the  doctor  sprawling  over  the  dash-board.  He 
sat  up  in  wrath.  " Sacre  Ueu!"  he  cried,  "I  might 
have  been  killed.  Quelle  femme!  What  a  woman! 
And  my  wig—  It  was  in  the  street  dust. 

"Why  did  you  not  stop?  Get  the  man's  wig, 
Tom."  The  groom,  grinning,  dismounted  and  stood 
still,  awaiting  her  orders,  the  dusty  wig  in  his  hand. 


THE  BED  CITY  71 

"My  wig — give  it  to  me." 

"No,  don't  give  it  to  him."  The  doctor  looked 
ruefully  from  the  black  to  the  angry  spinster. 

"What  means  this,  madame?    My  wig—" 

"I  want  you  to  go  at  once  to  see  a  sick  woman  at 
Mrs.  Swanwick's." 

"I  will  not.  I  am  sent  for  in  haste.  In  an  hour 
or  two  I  will  go,  or  this  afternoon." 

"I  don't  believe  you.  You  must  go  now— now. 
Who  is  it  is  ill?"  People  paused,  astonished  and 
laughing. 

"It  is  Citizen  Jefferson.    He  is  ill,  very  ill." 

"I  am  glad  of  it.    He  must  wait — this  citizen." 

"But  he  has  a  chill— un  diable  of  a  chill." 

"If  the  devil  himself  had  a  chill,— Lord,  but  it 
would  refresh  him!— he  would  have  to  wait." 

He  tried  to  pass  by.  She  seized  the  rein  of  his 
horse.  Her  blood  was  up,  and  at  such  times  few 
men  cared  to  face  her. 

"You  will  go,"  she  cried,  "and  at  once,  or— there 
is  a  tale  I  heard  about  you  last  year  in  London  from 
Dr.  Abernethy.  That  highwayman — you  know  the 
story.  Your  wig  I  shall  keep.  It  is  freshly  pow 
dered.  Lord,  man,  how  bald  you  are !" 

He  grew  pale  around  his  rouge.  "You  would  not, 
surely. ' ' 

"Would  I  not?  Come,  now,  I  won't  tell— oh,  not 
every  one.  Be  a  good  doctor.  I  have  quarreled 
with  Dr.  Rush— and  come  and  see  me  to-morrow. 
I  have  a  horrid  rheum.  And  as  to  Citizen  Jefferson, 
he  won't  die,  more  's  the  pity." 

He  knew  from  the  first  he  must  go,  and  by  good 


72  THE  KED  CITY 

luck  no  one  he  knew  was  in  sight  to  turn  him  into 
ridicule  for  the  pleasure  of  the  great  Federalist 
dames. 

''Give  him  his  wig,  Tom."  The  little  doctor 
sadly  regarded  the  dusty  wig.  Then  he  readjusted 
his  head-gear  and  said  he  would  go. 

"Now,  that  's  a  good  doctor..  Come,"  and  she 
rode  off  again  after  him,  by  no  means  inclined  to  set 
him  free  to  change  his  mind. 

At  Mrs.  Swan  wick's  door,  as  he  got  out  of  his 
chaise,  she  said:  "This  lady  speaks  only  French. 
She  is  the  Vicomtesse  de  Courval.  And  now,  mind 
you,  Doctor,  no  citizen  esses  or  any  such  Jacobin 
nonsense. ' ' 

"A  votre  service,  madame,"  he  said,  and  rapped 
discreetly  low,  feeling  just  at  present  rather  humble 
and  as  meek  as  Qa  Ira. 

Mistress  Wynne  waited  until  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  and  then  rode  away  refreshed.  Turn 
ing  to  her  black  groom,  she  said,  ' '  If  you  tell,  Tom, 
I  will  kill  you." 

"Yes,  missus." 

"At  all  events,  he  won't  bleed  her,"  she  re 
flected,  "and  he  has  more  good  sense  than  most  of 
them.  That  young  fellow  is  a  fine  figure  of  a  man. 
I  wonder  what  kind  of  clerk  Hugh  will  make  of  him. 
I  must  have  him  to  dine. ' ' 

"In  the  hall  Dr.  Chovet  met  Schmidt,  who  knew 
him,  as,  in  fact,  he  knew  every  one  of  any  impor 
tance  in  the  city. 

"These  are  to  me  friends,  Doctor,"  he  said.  "I 
beg  of  you  to  come  often, ' '  a  request  to  the  doctor 's 


THE  BED  CITY  73 

liking,  as  it  seemed  to  carry  better  assurance  of  pay 
than  was  the  usual  experience  among  his  emigrant 
countrymen.  He  was  at  once  a  little  more  civil. 
He  bowed  repeatedly,  was  much  honored,  and  after 
asking  a  few  questions  of  De  Courval,  went  up 
stairs  with  Mrs.  Swanwick,  reflecting  upon  how 
some  day  he  could  avenge  himslf  on  Gainor  Wynne. 

De  Courval,  relieved  by  his  presence  and  a  little 
amused,  said,  smiling,  "I  hope  he  is  a  good  doctor." 

' c  Yes,  he  is  competent.  He  manufactures  his  man 
ners  for  the  moment's  need." 

The  doctor  came  down  in  half  an  hour,  and, 
speaking  French  of  the  best,  said :  ' l  Madame  has  had 
troubles,  I  fear,  and  the  long  voyage  and  no  appetite 
for  sea  diet— bad,  bad.  It  is  only  a  too  great  strain 
on  mind  and  body.  There  needs  repose  and  shortly 
wine,— good  Bordeaux  claret,— and  soon,  in  a  week 
or  two,  to  drive  out  and  take  the  air.  There  is  no 
cause  for  alarm,  but  it  will  be  long,  long. ' ' 

Schmidt  went  with  him  to  the  door.  De  Courval 
sat  down.  Wine,  drives,  a  doctor,  and  for  how  long? 
And  perhaps  additions  to  the  simple  diet  of  this 
modest  household.  Well,  he  must  use  some  of  the 
small  means  in  Wynne's  hands.  And  these  women, 
with  their  cares,  their  brave  self-denial  of  all  help, 
how  could  he  ever  repay  this  unlooked-for  kindness  ? 

His  mother  soon  grew  better,  and,  having  again 
seen  Mr.  Wynne,  he  felt  that  he  might  shortly  take 
up  the  work  which  awaited  him. 

Meanwhile,  the  gentle  nursing  was  effective,  and 
went  on  without  complaint  and  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Miss  Wynne  came  at  odd  hours  to  inquire 


74  THE  BED  CITY 

or  to  fetch  some  luxury,  and  soon  the  vicomte  must 
call  to  see  her. 

The  days  went  by,  and  there  were  strawberries 
for  madame  from  Mr.  Langstroth  and  from  Merion, 
walks  for  De  Courval,  or  a  pull  on  the  water  with 
Schmidt,  and  anxiously  desired  news  from  France. 
At  last,  after  a  fortnight  or  more,  well  on  into  June, 
the  doctor  insisted  on  claret,  and  De  Courval  asked 
of  Schmidt  where  it  could  be  had.  The  German 
laughed.  "I  might  lie  to  you,  and  I  should  at  need, 
but  I  have  already  for  the  mother's  use  good  Bor 
deaux  in  the  cellar. ' ' 

De  Courval  colored,  and,  hesitating,  asked,  "How 
much  am  I  in  your  debt  ? ' ' 

"Six  months  of  the  five  years.  It  is  I  shall  be 
long  in  debt,  I  fear.  It  cannot  be  all  on  one  side. 
The  life  of  a  man !  What  credit  hath  it  in  the  ac 
count  of  things?  Suppose  it  had  gone  the  other 
way,  would  you  contented  bide?" 

"Not  I,"  laughed  De  Courval. 

"Let  us  say,  then,  I  have  paid  a  score  of  thanks; 
credit  me  with  these— one  should  be  prudent.  Only 
in  the  Bible  it  is  a  thank,— one.  Be  careful  of  the 
coin.  Let  it  rest  there.  So  you  go  to  work  to 
morrow.  It  is  well;  for  you  have  been  anxious  of 
late,  and  for  that  exacting  work  is  no  bad  remedy. ' ' 

The  next  day  De  Courval  found  himself  before 
seven-thirty  in  the  counting-house.  "It  is  hard  in 
winter,"  said  the  clerk  who  was  to  instruct  him. 
"Got  to  make  the  fires  then.  Mr.  Potts  is  partic 
ular.  You  must  leave  no  dust,  and  here  are  brooms 
in  the  closet."  And  so,  perched  en  a  high  stool, 


THE  BED  CITY  75 

the  clerk,  well  amused,  watched  his  successor,  Louis 
Rene,  Vicomte  de  Courval,  sweep  out  the  counting- 
house. 

"By  George!"  said  the  critic,  "you  will  wear  out 
a  broom  a  day.  What  a  dust !  Sweep  it  up  in  the 
dust-pan.  Sprinkle  it  first  with  the  watering-pot. 
Lord,  man,  don 't  deluge  it !  And  now  a  little  sand. 
Don 't  build  a  sea-beach.  Throw  out  the  dust  on  the 
ash-heap  behind  the  house. ' '  It  was  done  at  last. 

' '  Take  your  coat  off  next  time.  The  clerks  will  be 
here  soon,  but  we  have  a  few  minutes.  Come  out 
and  I  will  show  you  the  place.  Oh,  this  is  your 
desk,  quills,  paper,  and  sand,  and  'ware  old  man 
Potts." 

They  went  on  to  the  broad  landing  between  the 
warehouse  and  Dock  Creek.  "There  are  two  brigs 
from  Madeira  in  the  creek,  partly  unloaded." 

The  great  tuns  of  Madeira  wine  filled  the  air  with 
vinous  odors,  and  on  one  side,  under  a  shed,  were 
staves  and  salt  fish  from  the  North  for  return  car 
goes,  and  potatoes,  flour,  and  onions  in  ropes  for 
the  French  islands. 

"The  ship  outside,"  said  the  clerk,  "is  from  the 
Indies  with  tea  and  silks,  and  for  ballast  cheap  blue 
Canton  china." 

The  vessels  and  the  thought  of  far-away  seas 
pleased  the  young  man.  The  big  ship,  it  seemed,  had 
been  overhauled  by  a  small  British  privateer. 

"But  there  is  no  war?" 

"No,  but  they  claim  to  take  our  goods  billed  for 
any  French  port,  and  as  many  men  as  they  choose 
to  call  English." 


76  THE  EED  CITY 

"And  she  beat  them  off?" 

''Yes;  Mr.  Wynne  gave  the  master  a  silver  tank 
ard,  and  a  hundred  dollars  for  the  men." 

De  Courval  was  excited  and  pleased.  It  was  no 
day  of  tame,  peaceful  commerce.  Malayan  pirates 
in  the  East,  insolent  English  cruisers  to  be  outsailed, 
the  race  home  of  rival  ships  for  a  market,  made 
every  voyage  what  men  fitly  called  a  venture.  Com 
merce  had  its  romance.  Strange  things  and  stranger 
stories  came  back  from  far  Indian  seas. 

After  this  introduction,  he  thanked  his  instructor, 
and  returning  to  the  counting-house,  was  gravely 
welcomed  and  asked  to  put  in  French  two  long  let 
ters  for  Martinique  and  to  translate  and  write  out 
others.  He  went  away  for  his  noonday  meal,  and, 
returning,  wrote  and  copied  and  resolutely  rewrote, 
asking  what  this  and  that  term  of  commerce  meant, 
until  his  back  ached  when  he  went  home  at  six. 
He  laughed  as  he  gave  his  mother  a  humorous  ac 
count  of  it  all,  but  not  of  the  sweeping. 

Then  she  declared  the  claret  good,  and  what  did 
it  cost?  Oh,  not  much.  He  had  not  the  bill  as  yet. 


VI 


DESPITE  the  disgust  he  felt  at  the  routine  of 
daily  domestic  service,  the  life  of  the  great 
merchant 's  business  began  more  and  more  to  interest 
De  Courval.  The  clerks  were  mere  machines,  and 
of  Mr.  Wynne  he  saw  little.  He  went  in  and  laid 
letters  on  his  desk,  answered  a  question  or  two  in 
regard  to  his  mother,  and  went  out  with  perhaps  a 
message  to  a  shipmaster  fresh  from  the  Indies  and 
eager  to  pour  out  in  a  tongue  well  spiced  with  sea 
oaths  his  hatred  of  England  and  her  ocean  bullies. 

The  mother's  recovery  was  slow,  as  Chovet  had 
predicted,  but  at  the  end  of  June,  on  a  Saturday, 
he  told  Mistress  Wynne  she  might  call  on  his 
patient,  and  said  that  in  the  afternoon  the  vicomtesse 
might  sit  out  on  the  balcony  upon  which  her  room 
opened. 

Madame  was  beginning  to  desire  a  little  change 
of  society  and  was  somewhat  curious  as  to  this  old 
spinster  of  whom  Eene  had  given  a  kind,  if  rather 
startling,  account.  Her  own  life  in  England  had 
been  lonely  and  amid  those  who  afforded  her  no 
congenial  society,  nor  as  yet  was  she  in  entirely  easy 
and  satisfactory  relations  with  the  people  among 
whom  she  was  now  thrown.  They  were  to  her  both 
new  and  singular. 

6  77 


78  THE  EED  CITY 

The  Quaker  lady  puzzled  her  inadequate  expe 
rience—a  dame  de  pension,  a  boarding-house  keeper 
with  perfect  tact;  with  a  certain  simple  sweetness, 
as  if  any  common  bit  of  service  about  the  room  and 
the  sick  woman's  person  were  a  pleasure.  The  quiet, 
gentle  manners  of  the  Quaker  household,  with  now 
and  then  a  flavor  of  some  larger  world,  were  all  to 
Madame 's  taste.  When,  by  and  by,  her  hostess 
talked  more  and  more  freely  in  her  imperfect 
French,  it  was  unobtrusive  and  natural,  and  she 
found  her  own  somewhat  austere  training  beginning 
to  yield  and  her  unready  heart  to  open  to  kindness 
so  constant,  and  so  beautiful  with  the  evident  joy  of 
self -sacrifice. 

During  the  great  war  the  alliance  with  France 
had  made  the  language  of  that  country  the  fashion. 
French  officers  came  and  went,  and  among  the  Whig 
families  of  position  French  was  even  earlier,  as  in 
Mary  Plumstead's  case,  a  not  very  rare  accom 
plishment.  But  of  late  she  had  had  little  oppor 
tunity  to  use  her  knowledge,  and  with  no  such  cour 
age  as  that  of  Gainor  Wynne,  had  preferred  the 
awkwardness  of  silence  until  her  guest's  illness 
obliged  her  to  put  aside  her  shy  distrust  in  the  in 
terest  of  kindness.  She  soon  found  the  tongue  grow 
easier,  and  the  vicomtesse  began  to  try  at  short  Eng 
lish  sentences,  and  was  pleased  to  amuse  herself  by 
correcting  Margaret,  who  had  early  learned  French 
from  her  mother,  and  with  ready  intelligence  seized 
gladly  on  this  fresh  chance  to  improve  her  know 
ledge. 


THE  KED  CITY  79 

One  day  as  Mrs.  Swan  wick  sat  beside  her  guest's 
couch,  she  said:  "Thy  son  told  me  soon  after  thy 
coming  that  thou  art  not,  like  most  of  the  French, 
of  the  Church  of  Rome."  He,  it  seemed,  desired  to 
see  a  Friends '  meeting,  and  his  mother  had  expressed 
her  own  wish  to  do  the  same  when  well  enough. 

"No,"  said  madame;  "we  are  of  the  religion— 
Huguenots.  There  is  no  church  of  my  people  here, 
so  my  son  tells  me,  and  no  French  women  among  the 
emigrants. ' ' 

"Yes,  one  or  two.  That  is  thy  Bible,  is  it  not?" 
pointing  to  the  book  lying  open  beside  her.  "I  am 
reading  French  when  times  serve.  But  I  have  never 
seen  a  French  Bible.  May  I  look  at  it?  I  under 
stand  thy  speech  better  every  day,  and  Margaret 
still  better;  but  I  fear  my  French  may  be  queer 
enough  to  thee. ' ' 

"  It  is  certainly  better  than  my  English, ' '  said  the 
vicomtesse,  adding,  after  a  brief  pause:  "It  is  the 
French  of  a  kind  heart."  The  vicomtesse  as  she 
spoke  was  aware  of  a  breach  in  her  usual  reserve  of 
rather  formal  thankfulness. 

"I  thank  thee  for  thy  pretty  way  of  saying  a 
pleasant  thing,"  returned  Mrs.  Swanwick.  "I 
learned  it— thy  language— when  a  girl,  and  was 
foolishly  shy  of  its  use  before  I  knew  thee  so  well. 
Now  I  shall  blunder  on  at  ease,  and  Margaret  hath 
the  audacity  of  youth. ' ' 

"A  charming  child,"  said  madame,  "so  gay  and 
so  gentle  and  intelligent. ' ' 

"Yes,  a  good  girl.     Too  many  care  for  her— ah, 


80  THE  RED  CITY 

the  men !  One  would  wish  to  keep  our  girls  chil 
dren,  and  she  is  fast  ceasing  to  be  a  child." 

She  turned  to  the  Bible  in  her  hand,  open  at  a 
dry  leaf  of  ivy.  "It  has  psalms,  I  see,  here  at  the 
end." 

"Yes,  Clement  Marot's.  He  was  burned  at  the 
stake  for  his  faith. ' ' 

' '  Ah,  cruel  men !  How  strange !  Here,  I  see,  is 
a  psalm  for  one  about  to  die  on  the  scaffold." 

"Yes— yes,"  said  the  vicomtesse. 

' '  What  strange  stories  it  seems  to  tell !  It  was,  I 
see,  printed  long  ago." 

"Yes,  two  years  before  the  massacre  of  St.  Bar 
tholomew.  ' ' 

"And  here  is  one  for  men  about  to  go  into  battle 
for  God  and  their  faith."  The  hostess  looked  up. 
Her  guest 's  face  was  stern,  stirred  as  with  some  deep 
emotion,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

She  had  been  thinking,  as  she  lay  still  and  listened 
to  Mary  Swan  wick 's  comments,  of  death  for  a  man 's 
personal  belief,  for  his  faith,  of  death  with  honor. 
She  was  experiencing,  of  a  sudden,  that  failure  of 
self-control  which  is  the  sure  result  of  bodily  weak 
ness;  for,  with  the  remembrance  of  her  husband's 
murder,  she  recalled,  amid  natural  feelings  of  sor 
row,  the  shame  with  which  she  had  heard  of  his 
failure  at  once  to  declare  his  rank  when  facing  death. 
For  a  moment  she  lay  still.  "I  shall  be  better  in  a 
moment,"  she  said. 

"Ah,  what  have  I  done?"  cried  Mrs.  Swan  wick, 
distressed,  as  she  took  the  thin,  white  hand  in  hers. 
"Forgive  me." 


THE  EED  CITY  81 

"You  have  done  nothing— nothing.  Some  day  I 
shall  tell  you;  not  now."  She  controlled  herself 
with  effectual  effort,  shocked  at  her  own  weakness, 
and  surprised  that  it  had  betrayed  her  into  emo 
tion  produced  by  the  too  vivid  realization  of  a  terri 
ble  past.  She  never  did  tell  more  of  it,  but  the  story 
came  to  the  Quaker  dame  on  a  far-off  day  and  from 
a  less  reserved  personage. 

At  this  moment  Margaret  entered.  Few  things 
escaped  the  watchful  eyes  that  were  blue  to-day  and 
gray  to-morrow,  like  the  waters  of  the  broad  river 
that  flowed  by  her  home.  No  sign  betrayed  her  sur 
prise  at  the  evident  tremor  of  the  chin  muscles,  the 
quick  movement  of  the  handkerchief  from  the  eyes, 
tear-laden,  the  mother's  look  of  sympathy  as  she 
dropped  the  hand  left  passive  in  her  grasp.  Not  in 
vain  had  been  the  girl's  training  in  the  ways  of 
Friends.  Elsewhere  she  was  more  given  to  set  free 
her  face  to  express  what  she  felt,  but  at  home  and 
among  those  of  the  Society  of  Friends  she  yielded 
with  the  imitativeness  of  youth  to  the  not  unwhole 
some  discipline  of  her  elders.  She  quietly  an 
nounced  Aunt  Gainor  as  waiting  below  stairs. 

"Wilt  thou  see  her?"  said  Mrs.  Swan  wick. 

" Certainly;  I  have  much  to  thank  her  for.  And 
tell  my  son  not  to  come  up  as  yet,"  for,  being  Sat 
urday,  it  was  a  half -holiday  from  noon,  and  having 
been  out  for  a  good  walk  to  stretch  his  desk-cramped 
legs,  he  was  singing  in  the  garden  bits  of  French 
songs  and  teasing  June  or  watching  her  skilful  hunt 
for  grasshoppers.  He  caroled  gaily  as  he  lay  in  the 
shade : 


82  THE  RED  CITY 

"La  fin  du  jour 

Sauve  les  fleurs  et  rafraichit  les  belles  j 
Je  veux,  en  galant  troubadour, 
Celebrer,  au  nom  de  1'amour, 
Chanter,  au  nom  des  fleurs  nouvelles 
La  fin  du  jour." 

The  message  was  given  later,  and  as  Mistress 
Gainor  came  in  to  his  mother's  room  she  was  a 
striking  figure,  with  the  beaver  hat  tied  under  her 
chin  and  the  long,  dark-green  pelisse  cast  open  so 
as  to  reveal  the  rich  silk  of  her  gown.  It  was  not 
unfit  for  her  age  and  was  in  entire  good  taste,  for  as 
usual  she  was  dressed  for  her  role.  Even  her 
goddaughter  was  slightly  surprised,  well  as  she 
knew  her.  This  was  not  the  Gainor  that  Chovet 
knew,  the  woman  who  delighted  to  excite  the  too 
easily  irritated  Dr.  Rush,  or  to  shock  Mrs.  Adams, 
the  Vice-President's  wife,  with  well  embroidered 
gossip  about  the  Willing  women  and  the  high  play 
at  Landsdowne,  where  Mrs.  Penn  presided,  and 
Shippens,  Chews,  and  others  came.  This  was  an 
other  woman. 

Margaret,  curious,  lingered  behind  Miss  "Wynne, 
and  stood  a  moment,  a  hand  on  the  door.  Miss 
Wynne  came  forward,  and  saying  in  French  which 
had  amazed  two  generations,  "Bon  jour,  madame," 
swept  the  entirely  graceful  courtesy  of  a  day 
when  even  the  legs  had  fine  manners,  adding,  as 
the  vicomtesse  would  have  risen,  "No,  I  beg  of 
you." 

"The  settle  is  on  the  balcony,"  said  the  hostess, 
* '  and  Cicero  will  come  up  by  and  by  and  carry  thee 


THE  BED  CITY  83 

out.  Not  a  step— not  a  step  by  thyself,"  she  added, 
gently  despotic. 

As  Miss  Wynne  passed  by,  the  girl  saw  her  cour 
tesy,  and,  closing  the  door,  said  to  herself,  ' '  I  think  I 
could  do  it,"  and  fell  to  courtesying  on  the  broad 
landing.  "I  should  like  to  do  that  for  Friend  Nich 
olas  Wain,"  and  gaily  laughing,  she  went  out  and 
down  the  garden  to  deliver  her  message  to  the  young 
vicomte. 

Neither  man,  woman  nor  the  French  tongue  dis 
mayed  Mistress  Wynne.  "C'etait  un  long  calem- 
bourg,  my  son,"  the  vicomtesse  said  later— "a  long 
conundrum,  a  long  charade  of  words  to  represent  le 
Ion  Dieu  knows  what.  Ah,  a  tonic,  truly.  I  was 
amused  as  I  am  not  often."  In  fact,  she  was  rarely 
receptively  humorous  and  never  productively  so. 
Now  she  spoke  slowly,  in  order  to  be  understood, 
comprehending  the  big  woman  and  knowing  her  at 
once  for  a  lady  of  her  own  world  with  no  provincial 
drawbacks,  a  woman  at  her  ease,  and  serenely  un 
conscious  of,  or  indifferent  to,  the  quality  of  the  as 
tounding  tongue  in  which  she  spoke. 

She  talked  of  London  and  of  the  French  emigrant 
nobles  in  Philadelphia,  of  the  Marquis  de  la  Garde, 
who  taught  dancing;  of  the  Comte  du  Vallon,  who 
gave  lessons  in  fencing;  of  De  Malerive,  who  made 
ice-cream.  Madame,  interested,  questioned  her  until 
they  got  upon  unhappy  France,  when  she  shifted  the 
talk  and  spoke  of  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Wynne. 

"It  will  soon  be  too  hot  here,"  said  Gainor,  "and 
then  I  shall  have  you  at  the  Hill— Chestnut  Hill, 
and  in  a  week  I  shall  come  for  you  to  ride  in  my 


84  THE  BED  CITY 

landau, "—there  were  only  four  in  the  city,— "and 
the  vicomte  shall  drive  with  you  next  Saturday. 
You  may  not  know  that  my  niece  Mrs.  Wynne  was 
of  French  Quakers  from  the  Midi,  and  this  is  why 
her  son  loves  your  people  and  has  more  praise  for 
your  son  than  he  himself  is  like  to  hear  from  my 
nephew.  For  my  part,  when  I  hate,  I  let  it  out, 
and  when  I  love  or  like,  I  am  frank,"  which  was 
true. 

Just  then  came  the  old  black  servant  man  Cicero, 
once  a  slave  of  James  Logan  the  first,  and  so  named 
by  the  master,  folks  said,  because  of  pride  in  his  fine 
translation  of  the  "De  Senectute"  of  Cicero,  which 
Franklin  printed. 

"Cicero  will  carry  thee  out,"  said  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick. 

"Will  he,  indeed?"  said  Gainor,  seeing  a  shadow 
of  annoyance  come  over  the  grave  face  of  the  sick 
woman  as  she  said,  "I  can  walk,"  and  rose  un 
steadily.  The  pelisse  was  off,  and  before  the  amazed 
vicomtesse  could  speak,  she  was  in  Gainor 's  strong 
arms  and  laid  gently  down  on  a  lounge  in  the  outer 
air. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  was  all  she  could  say,  "but  you  are 
as  a  man  for  strength.  Thank  you." 

The  roses  were  below  her.  The  cool  air  came  over 
them  from  the  river,  and  the  violet  of  the  eastward 
sky  reflected  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun.  A  ship 
with  the  tricolor  moved  up  with  the  flood,  a  bonnet 
rouge  at  the  masthead,  as  was  common. 

' '  What  flag  is  that  ? ' '  asked  the  vicomtesse.  ' '  And 
that  red  thing  ?  I  do  not  see  well. " 


THE  BED  CITY  85 

' '  I  do  not  know, ' '  said  Gainor,  calmly  fibbing ;  and 
seeing  her  goddaughter  about  to  speak,  she  put  a 
finger  on  her  lips  and  thrust  a  hand  ignorant  of  its 
strength  in  the  ribs  of  the  hostess  as  madame,  look 
ing  down  among  the  trees  on  the  farther  slope,  said : 
1 1  Who  is  that  ?  How  merry  they  are ! ' ' 

''Adam  and  Eve— in  the  garden,"  replied  Gainor. 

"For  shame!"  murmured  Mary  Swanwick  in 
English.  "It  is  well  she  did  not  understand  thee." 
Then  she  added  to  the  vicomtesse :  ' '  It  is  Margaret, 
madame,  and  thy  son." 

Again  gay  laughter  came  up  from  the  distance; 
the  vicomtesse  became  thoughtful. 

"I  have  left  you  lettuce  and  some  fruit,"  said 
Miss  Wynne, ' l  and  may  I  be  pardoned  for  taking  the 
place  of  Cicero  ? ' ' 

"Ah,  madame,  kindness  in  any  form  is  easy  to 
pardon."  Then  Gainor  went  away,  while  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick  sat  down,  saying:  "Now  no  more  talk.  Let  me 
fan  thee  a  little." 

The  next  day  being  the  first  Sunday  in  July, 
Schmidt  said  after  breakfast:  "De  Courval,  you 
said  last  night  that  you  would  like  to  go  to  church. 
It  shall  be  Christ  Church,  if  you  like— Episcopal 
they  call  it." 

They  set  out  early,  and  on  Delaware  Second  Street 
saw  the  fine  old  church  Dr.  Kearsley  planned,  like 
the  best  of  Christopher  Wren's  work,  as  De  Cour 
val  at  once  knew. 

"I  shall  go  in.  I  may  not  stay,"  said  Schmidt. 
"I  do  not  like  churches.  They  seem  all  too  small 
for  me.  Men  should  pray  to  God  out  of  doors.  Well, 


86  THE  BED  CITY 

it  has  a  certain  stately  becomingness.     It  will  suit 
you;  but  the  Druids  knew  best." 

They  found  seats  near  the  chancel.  Just  before 
the  service  began,  a  black  servant  in  livery  entered 
by  a  side  door.  A  large  man,  tall  and  erect,  in  full 
black  velvet,  followed.  The  servant  opened  a  pew; 
the  tall  man  sat  down,  and  knelt  in  prayer ;  the  ser 
vant  went  back  to  the  door,  and  seated  himself  on 
the  floor  upon  a  cushion. 

Schmidt  whispered,  ''That  is  George  Washing 
ton." 

The  young  man,  it  is  to  be  feared,  paid  small  at 
tention  to  the  service  or  to  good  Bishop  White's 
sermon.  The  grave,  moveless,  ruddy  face  held  him 
with  the  interest  of  its  history.  The  reverent  atten 
tion  of  the  great  leader  pleased  him,  with  his  Hugue 
not  training.  At  the  close  the  congregation  remained 
standing  until  Washington  had  gone  out. 

"Come,"  said  Schmidt,  and  crossing  the  church 
they  waited  at  the  south  gate  until  the  President 
passed.  He  raised  his  hand  in  soldierly  salute,  and 
bowing,  took  off  his  beaver  as  he  met  Mrs.  Chew  and 
the  Chief-Justice. 

The  two  men  walked  away,  silent  for  a  time.  Then 
the  German  said:  "You  have  seen  a  great  man,  a 
great  soldier,— says  our  Frederick,  who  ought  to 
know,— a  statesman,  too,  and  baited  now  by  Jeffer 
son's  creature  Freneau.  It  must  have  pleased  the 
Almighty  to  have  decreed  the  making  of  a  man  like 
George  Washington." 

That  the  God  of  Calvin  should  have  pleasure  in 
things  made  had  never  occurred  to  the  young  Hu- 


THE  BED  CITY  87 

guenot,  who  was  already  getting  lessons  which  in 
days  to  come  would  freely  modify  the  effect  of 
the  stern  tenets  which  through  habit  and  education 
he  accepted  with  small  cost  of  thought.  His  mind, 
however,  was  of  serious  type,  and  inquiry  was  in 
the  whole  world's  atmosphere  of  his  time. 

He  said,  "Herr  Schmidt,  can  a  man  conceive  of 
God  as  having  enjoyment?" 

"If  you  were  God,  the  all-creative,  the  eternal 
power,  the  inconceivable  master,  would  you  not  make 
for  yourself  pleasure,  when  you  could  make  or  mar 
all  things  ?  Does  it  shock  you  ?  Or  has  the  thought 
of  your  church  the  clipped  wings  of  an  eagle  that 
must  ever  stumble  on  the  earth  and  yearn  for  the 
free  flight  of  the  heavens?  Terrible  shears  are 
creeds. ' ' 

De  Courval  was  new  to  such  comments.  He  felt 
hindered  by  all  the  child  home-rule  of  habit,  and  the 
discipline  of  limiting  beliefs  held  the  more  strin 
gently  for  the  hostile  surroundings  of  neighbors  and 
kinfolks  of  the  Church  of  Home. 

The  German  was  of  no  mind  to  perplex  him.  He 
had  some  clearly  defined  ideas  as  to  what  as  a  gentle 
man  he  could  or  could  not  do.  As  to  much  else  he 
had  no  ruling  conscience,  but  a  certain  kindliness 
which  made  him  desire  to  like  and  be  liked  of  men, 
and  so  now,  with  something  akin  to  affection,  he  was 
learning  to  love  the  grave  young  noble  to  whom  he 
owed  a  life  endowed  by  nature  with  great  power  of 
varied  enjoyment. 

"We  will  talk  of  these  things  again,"  he  said. 
"Once  I  was  speaking  of  the  making  of  men,  and  I 


88  THE  EED  CITY 

said,  'If  the  father  of  Shakspere  had  married  an 
other  woman,  or  his  wife  a  year  later,  would  ' '  Ham 
let  ' '  ever  have  been  written  ? '  : 

De  Courval  laughed.    ' '  I  do  not  know  '  Hamlet. '  ! 

The  German  looked  around  at  him  thoughtfully 
and  said :  ' '  Is  that  indeed  so  ?  It  is  a  sermon  on  the 
conduct  of  life.  When  once  I  spoke  of  this  and  how 
at  birth  we  are  fortuned,  the  king  said  to  me,  I 
think—"  and  he  broke  off  his  sentence.  "You  must 
not  take  me  too  seriously,  De  Courval.  This  is  mere 
gossip  of  the  imagination.  I  have  lived  too  much  in 
France  with  the  philosophers,  who  are  like  Paul's 
men  of  Athens. ' ' 

"I  like  it,"  said  De  Courval,  pleased,  puzzled,  nat 
tered,  and  immensely  curious  concerning  the  man  at 
his  side;  but  decent  manners  forbidding  personal 
questions,  he  accepted  the  German's  diversion  of  the 
talk  and  asked,  "Who  is  that  across  the  street?" 

"A  good  soldier,  General  Wayne,  and  with  him 
the  Secretary  of  War,  Knox.  It  is  said  he  is  one  of 
the  few  whom  Washington  loves.  He  is  a  lonely 
man,  the  President,  as  are  the  kings  of  men,  on 
thrones  or  elsewhere." 

"To  be  loved  of  that  man  would  be  worth  while," 
said  his  companion.  He  was  to  see  him  again  in  an 
hour  of  distress  for  himself  and  of  trouble  and  grief 
for  the  harassed  statesman. 

When  at  home  he  told  his  mother  he  had  seen 
Washington. 

"What  was  he  like?" 

"I  can  not  say— tall,  straight,  ruddy,  a  big  nose." 

She   smiled    at   his   description.      "Your    father, 


THE  BED  CITY  89 

Rene,  once  told  me  of  a  letter  Marquis  La  Fayette 
had  of  him  the  day  after  he  last  parted  with  Wash 
ington.  It  was  something  like  this:  'When  our  car 
riages  separated,  I  said,  I  shall  never  see  him  again. 
My  heart  said  Yes.  My  head  said  No;  but  these 
things  happen.  At  least  I  have  had  my  day/  That 
is  not  like  a  man,  Rene.  He  must  have  strong  affec 
tions." 

"Men  say  not,  mother." 


VII 


THE  years  which  followed  our  long  struggle  for 
freedom  were  busy  years  for  the  mind  of  man. 
The  philosophers  in  France  were  teaching  men 
strange  doctrines,  and  fashion,  ever  eager  for 
change,  reveled  in  the  new  political  philosophy.  The 
stir  of  unrest  was  in  the  air,  among  the  people,  in 
the  talk  of  the  salons. 

The  Bastille  had  long  since  fallen,  and  already  in 
the  provinces  murder  and  pillage  had  begun.  The 
terrible  example  set  by  Jourdan  late  in  '91  was  re 
ceived  in  Paris  with  other  than  reprobation.  He 
was  to  return  to  Avignon  and,  strange  irony  of  fate, 
to  be  condemned  as  a  moderate  and  to  die  by  the 
guillotine  amid  the  rejoicing  of  the  children  of  his 
victims ;  but  this  was  to  be  far  away  in  '94. 

The  massacres  of  August,  '92,  when  the  king  left 
the  Swiss  to  their  fate,  all  the  lightning  and  thunder 
of  the  gathering  storm  of  war  without  and  frenzied 
murder  within  the  tottering  kingdom,  had  not  as 
yet  in  this  midsummer  been  heard  of  in  America. 

After  four  years  as  our  minister  in  Paris,  Mr.  Jef 
ferson  had  long  ago  come  back  to  add  the  mischief 
of  a  notable  intellect  to  the  party  which  sincerely 
believed  we  were  in  danger  of  a  monarchy,  and  was 
all  for  France  and  for  Citizen  Equality,  who,  as 

90 


THE  RED  CITY  91 

Hamilton  foresaw,  might  come  to  be  the  most  cruel 
of  tyrants. 

The  long  battle  of  States'  rights  had  begun  in 
America.  The  Federalists,  led  by  Hamilton,  were 
for  strong  central  rule ;  their  opponents,  the  Repub 
licans,  later  to  be  called  Democrats,  were  gone  mad 
in  their  Jacobin  clubs  of  many  cities,  bonnet  rouge 
at  feasts,  craze  about  titles,  with  Citizen  for  Mr., 
and  eagerly  expecting  a  new  French  minister. 

Washington,  a  Federalist,  smiled  grimly  at  the 
notion  of  kingship,  and  the  creature  of  no  party, 
with  his  usual  desire  for  peace,  had  made  up,  of  both 
parties,  a  cabinet  sure  to  disagree. 

To  hear  the  clamor  of  the  Jacobin  clubs,  a  stranger 
coming  among  us  in  '92  might  have  believed  us 
ruined.  Nevertheless,  Hamilton  had  rescued  our 
finance,  assured  a  revenue  not  as  yet  quite  sufficient, 
founded  the  bank,  and  assumed  the  State  debts.  The 
country  was  in  peril  only  from  disorders  due  to  ex 
cess  of  prosperity,  the  podagra  of  the  state.  There 
was  gambling  in  the  new  script,  lotteries  innumer 
able,  and  the  very  madness  of  speculation  in  all 
manner  of  enterprises— canals,  toll-pike  roads,  pur 
chases  of  whole  counties. 

Cool  heads  like  Schmidt  looked  on  and  profited. 
The  Quaker  merchants,  no  wise  perturbed  by  the 
rashness  of  speculation,  accumulated  irredeemable 
ground  rents,  and  thriving,  took  far  too  little  in 
terest  in  the  general  party  issues,  but  quietly  created 
the  great  schools  which  are  of  our  best  to-day,  en 
dowed  charities,  and  were  to  be  heard  of  later  as 
fearless  Christian  gentlemen  in  a  time  of  death  and 


92  THE  BED  CITY 

despair,  when  men  unafraid  in  battle  shrank  from 
the  foe  which  struck  and  was  never  seen. 

In  the  early  August  days,  madame  had  driven 
now  and  then  with  Mistress  Wynne,  and  at  present 
was  gone,  not  quite  willingly,  to  stay  a  while  at  the 
Hill.  Mrs.  Wynne  had  called,  and  her  husband, 
more  than  once,  with  a  guarded  word  or  two  from 
his  wife  as  to  the  manner  of  usefulness  of  his  young 
clerk.  "Mind  you,  Hugh,  let  it  be  secretary.  Do 
not  hurt  the  poor  lady 's  pride. ' '  So  counseled  Dar- 
thea,  kindly  wise,  and  he  obeyed,  having  come  in 
time  to  accept  his  wife's  wisdom  in  many  matters 
social  and  other. 

To  the  Hill  farm  came  to  call,  on  the  vicomtesse, 
the  Vicomte  de  Noailles,  the  prosperous  partner  of 
William  Bingham;  and,  asked  by  the  Wynnes,  Mrs. 
Bingham,  to  be  at  a  later  day  the  acclaimed  beauty 
of  London;  her  kin,  the  Willings,  with  the  gift  of 
hereditary  good  looks;  and  the  Shippens.  The 
vicomtesse  received  them  all  with  a  certain  surprise 
at  their  ceremonious  good  manners  and  their  tran 
quil  sense  of  unquestioned  position.  She  would 
return  no  visits  as  yet,  and  her  son  was  busy  and, 
too,  like  herself,  in  mourning.  In  fact,  she  shrank 
from  general  contact  with  the  prosperous,  and 
dreaded  for  Rene  this  gay  world  of  pretty  young 
women,  del!  What  might  not  happen? 

On  their  part,  they  were  curious  and  kind.  Emi 
grant  ladies  were  rare ;  but,  as  to  foreign  titles,  they 
were  used  to  them  in  the  war,  and  now  they  were 
common  since  a  great  influx  of  destitute  French  had 
set  in,  and  not  all  who  came  were  to  their  liking. 


THE  EED  CITY  93 

"There,"  said  the  German  one  evening,  kindling 
a  great  pipe,  "enough  of  politics,  De  Courval;  you 
are  of  the  insatiably  curious.  We  are  to  dine  to 
morrow  at  the  fashionable  hour  of  four  with  Mistress 
Wynne  and  the  maid,  my  Pearl.  It  is  an  occasion 
of  some  worthiness.  She  has  come  to  town  for  this 
feast,  one  of  her  freaks.  Did  ever  you  see  a  great 
actress  ? ' ' 

"I?"  said  De  Courval.  "No,  or  yes— once,  in 
France,  Mademoiselle  Mars.  We  of  the  religion  do 
not  go  to  the  theater.  What  actress  do  you  speak 
of?" 

"Oh,  women— all  women;  but  to-morrow  on  the 
stage  will  be  Miss  Gainor,  become,  by  pretty  courtesy 
of  possibilities  declined.  Mistress  Gainor  by  bre 
vet-" 

De  Courval,  delighted,  cried:  "But  your  little 
Quaker  lady— is  she  to  have  a  role?  She  seems  to 
me  very  simple." 

"Simple!  Yes,  here,  or  at  meeting,  I  daresay. 
Thou  shouldest  see  her  with  Friend  Wain.  Her  eyes 
humbly  adore  his  shoe-buckles—no,  his  shoe-ties— 
when  he  exhorts  her  to  the  preservation  of  plainness 
of  attire,  and  how  through  deep  wading,  and  a  living 
travail  of  soul,  life  shall  be  uplifted  to  good  do 
minion.  It  is  a  godly  man,  no  doubt,  and  a  fine, 
ripe  English  he  talks;  and  Arthur  Howell,  too." 

' '  I  must  hear  them. ' ' 

"You  will  hear  noble  use  of  the  great  English 
speech.  But  best  of  all  are  the  Free  Quakers,  like 
Samuel  Wetherill,  an  apostate,  says  Friend  Penning- 
ton  with  malignant  sweetness,  but  for  me  a  sterling, 


94  THE  BED  CITY 

well-bred  gentle,  if  ever  God  made  one.  Ah,  then  the 
maid,  all  godliness  and  grace,  will  take  his  hat  and 
cane  and,  the  head  a  bit  aside,  make  eyes  at  him. 
Ah,  fie  for  shame!  And  how  we  purr  and  purr- 
actresses,  oh,  all  of  them !  There  is  the  making  of  a 
Quaker  Juliet  in  that  girl. ' ' 

"One  would  scarce  think  it.  My  mother  is  eprise 
—oh,  quite  taken  with  Miss  Margaret,  and  now,  I 
think,  begins  a  little  to  understand  this  household, 
so  new  and  so  wonderful  to  me  and  to  her.  But  I 
meant  to  ask  you  something.  I  have  part  paid  the 
queer  doctor,  and  the  bill,  I  suppose,  is  correct.  It 
is  long— 

"And  large,  no  doubt." 

"And  what  with  a  new  gown  my  mother  needs 
and  some  clothes  I  must  have — 

The  German  interrupted  him.  "De  Courval,  may 
I  not  help  you,  to  whom  I  owe  a  debt  which  can 
never  be  paid  1 ' ' 

' '  Oh,  no,  no.  I  shall  soon  have  more  wages. ' '  He 
grew  red  as  he  spoke. 

' '  But  why  is  money  such  a  wonder  thing  that  only 
some  saleable  article  shall  count  against  it?  I  lack 
hospitality  to  entertain  the  thought." 

"Would  you  take  it  of  me?" 

"I?  Yes.  I  took  my  life  of  you — a  poor  thing, 
but  mine  own." 

"I  think  you  had  small  choice  in  the  matter," 
laughed  Rene. 

"DerTeufel!  Very  little.  Let  it  be  a  loan,  if  you 
will.  Come,  now.  You  make  me  unhappy.  I  lend 
you  five  hundred  livres—a  hundred  dollars  we  call  it 
here.  You  pay,  when  you  can. ' ' 


THE  RED  CITY  95 

De  Courval  hesitated.  Was  there  not  something 
ignoble  in  refusing  a  kindness  thus  offered  ?  Schmidt 
laughed  as  he  added:  "Reverse  it.  Put  it  in  this 
fashion:  good  master  of  my  fate,  let  me  drown.  I 
would  owe  no  coin  of  life  to  any.  To  end  it,  I  put 
to-night  in  this  left-hand  drawer  money.  Use  it 
freely.  Leave  a  receipt  each  time,  if  you  like." 

"I  am  so  little  used  to  kindness,"  said  De  Cour 
val,  wavering. 

"I  know,"  returned  Schmidt— "bittersweet  to 
some  men,  but  should  not  be  to  the  more  noble  na 
ture." 

"No,  no,  not  to  me.  I  take  it  and  gladly,  but"— 
and  once  more  he  colored,  as  he  said  with  a  certain 
shyness— "would  you  mind  calling  me  Rene?  I— I 
should  like  it." 

"And  I,  too,"  said  the  German,  as  he  put  a  hand 
of  familiar  kindliness  on  the  younger  man's  knee. 
"Now  that  is  settled,  and  you  have  done  me  another 
favor.  I  have  an  errand  at  German  town,  and  shall 
join  you  at  Miss  Wynne's  at  four  to-morrow.  Are 
there  any  ships  come  in  ?  No  ?  There  will  be,  I  fear, 
evil  news  from  France,  and  storms,  storms  that  will 
roll  across  the  sea  and  beat,  too,  on  these  shores.  It 
will  stir  here  some  foolish  echoes,  some  feeble  mock 
ery  of  what  over  there  cries  murder."  De  Courval 
had  had  too  much  reason  to  believe  him.  "Ach,  I 
am  sleepy.  Shall  you  go  to  see  your  mother  on  Sun 
day  ?  There  is  my  mare  at  your  service. ' ' 

Yes,  he  had  meant  to  walk,  but  he  would  be  glad 
of  the  horse. 

When,  on  Saturday,  Mrs.  Swanwick  knew  that 
Schmidt  had  gone  to  the  country,  she  said  Margaret 


96  THE  EED  CITY 

would  walk  with  the  vicomte,  and  show  him  the  way. 
He  felt  a  fresh  surprise,  a  little  embarrassment. 
Young  women  were  not  .thus  free  in  France ;  but  as 
he  was  the  only  one  thus  amazed,  he  set  out  with  the 
Pearl  in  some  wonderment  at  what  his  mother  would 
have  said  or  thought. 

They  walked  up  Front  Street,  and  at  last  along 
Fifth.  She  was  now,  as  Schmidt  had  said,  the  other 
Margaret  of  whom  De  Courval  had  had  brief  know 
ledge  at  times.  A  frank,  natural,  gay  good  humor 
was  in  all  her  ways,  a  gentle  desire  to  please,  which 
was  but  the  innocent  coquetry  of  a  young  girl's 
heart.  She  stayed  a  moment  as  they  crossed  Walnut 
Street,  and  replying  to  a  question,  said :  '  *  Yes,  that 
is  the  jail  men  called  the  Provostry  in  the  war.  My 
grandfather  lay  in  it— oh,  very  long.  We  have  his 
sword  in  the  attic.  I  would  hang  it  up  down-stairs, 
but  Friends  would  not  approve,  thou  must  know. 
And  that  is  Independence  Hall,  but  thou  hast  seen 

it." 

' '  Yes.    Are  you  proud  of  it  1' ' 

"Surely.  My  people  shed  our  blood  for  what 
strong  men  did  in  that  hall.  My  uncle  and  my 
grandfather  came  out  of  the  jail  to  die,  oh,  both  of 
them!" 

' '  And  of  what  party  are  you,  Miss  Margaret  ? ' ' 

"Of  George  Washington's,"  she  cried.  "But 
Friends  must  have  no  party,  or  their  women,  at  least 
—not  even  tea-parties,"  and  she  laughed. 

"I  think  I  am  of  your  party,"  said  De  Courval— 
"George  Washington's.'1 

The  conventual  shelter  of  the  silk  bonnet  turned 


THE  RED  CITY  97 

toward  him  as  she  said :  ' '  Then  we  agree ;  but  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  like  people  to  agree  with  me.  It  spoils 
talk,  Mr.  Schmidt  says." 

''Then  I  am  all  for  Jefferson,"  he  cried  gaily, 
thinking  in  his  grave  way  that  this  young  girl  was 
of  a  sudden  older  than  her  years. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  that  either,"  she  re 
plied,  and  so  chatting  with  easy  freedom  they  came 
to  Miss  Wynne's  door,  opposite  the  Quakers'  burial- 
ground,  where  their  dead  lay  in  unmarked  graves. 
A  negro  servant  in  the  brown  livery  of  the  Wynnes 
opened  the  door,  and  Aunt  Gainor  appeared  in  the 
hall  in  more  than  usual  splendor. 

"Good  day,  Vicomte,"  and  to  Margaret:  "Take 
off  your  bonnet,  child.  How  can  any  one,  man  or 
woman,  kiss  thee  with  that  thing  on  thy  head?  It 
might  be  useful  at  need,  but  I  do  suppose  you  could 
take  it  off  on  such  occasions." 

' ( For  shame,  Aunt  Gainor ! ' '  said  the  Pearl,  flush 
ing  and  glad  of  the  bonnet  she  was  in  act  to  remove. 
Miss  Wynne  kissed  her,  whispering,  "Good  Lord! 
you  are  on  the  way  to  be  a  beauty ! ' ' 

De  Courval,  who  of  course  had  called  long  since 
to  thank  his  hostess,  had  so  far  dined  in  no  one  of 
the  more  luxuriously  appointed  homes  of  Philadel 
phia.  Here  were  portraits;  much,  too  much,  china, 
of  which  he  was  no  judge ;  and  tables  for  work  that 
Miss  Wynne  never  did,  or  for  cards  at  which  she 
liked  high  play. 

"Mr.  Hamilton  was  to  dine  here,  but  was  with  me 
just  now  to  be  excused. ' ' 

' '  He  was  with  my  mother  an  hour  this  morning, ' ' 


98  THE  RED  CITY 

said  Margaret,  ' '  about  some  small  affairs  we  have  in 
New  York.  He  is  to  be  here  again  on  Saturday  sen 
night  to  tell  mother  all  about  it. ' ' 

"I  am  sorry  to  miss  him,"  said  Gainor;  "but  if  I 
lose  a  guest  I  desired,  I  am  to  have  one  I  do  not 
want.  Mr.  Josiah  Langstroth  has  bidden  himself  to 
dine  with  me. ' ' 

"Uncle  Josiah?  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a 
month." 

* '  There  is  a  joss  in  the  corner  like  him,  Vicomte, ' ' 
said  Miss  Wynne.  ' '  If  you  look  at  it,  you  will  need 
no  presentation.  I  pray  you  to  avoid  the  temptation 
of  a  look. ' '  Of  course  both  young  persons  regarded, 
as  she  meant  they  should,  the  china  god  on  his  ebony 
stand. 

"A  reincarnation  of  the  bulldog,"  remarked 
Gainor,  well  pleased  with  her  phrase. 

"If,"  said  Margaret  to  the  young  man,  "thou  dost 
take  my  aunt  or  Uncle  Josiah  seriously,  it  will  be 
what  they  never  do  one  another.  They  fight,  but 
never  quarrel.  My  mother  thinks  this  is  because 
then  they  would  stay  apart  and  have  no  more  the 
luxury  of  fighting  again,  a  thing  they  do  love. ' ' 

"Are  you  sure  that  is  thy  mother's  wisdom,  Mar 
garet  ? ' '  said  Gainor.  "  It  is  not  like  her. ' ' 

"  If  I  said  it  was  mine,  thou  wouldst  box  my  ears. ' ' 

"Did  ever  one  hear  the  like?" 

The  young  girl  occasionally  ventured,  when  with 
aunt  or  uncle,  upon  these  contributions  of  observa 
tion  which  now  and  then  startle  those  who,  seeing 
little  change  from  day  to  day,  are  surprised  by  the 
sudden  fruitage  of  developmental  growth. 


THE  BED  CITY  99 

1 1 1  shall  profit  by  Miss  Swanwick  's  warning, ' '  said 
De  Courval. 

Miss  Wynne,  who  kept  both  houses  open,  and  now 
would  not  as  usual,  on  account  of  the  vicomtesse,  fill 
her  country  house  with  guests,  had  come  to  town  to 
dine  Mr.  Hamilton  and  to  amuse  herself  with  the 
young  man.  It  cannot  be  said,  despite  her  bluff 
kindness,  that  De  Courval  altogether  or  unreservedly 
liked  her  sudden  changes  of  mood  or  the  quick 
transitions  which  more  or  less  embarrassed  and  at 
times  puzzled  him.  Upon  his  inquiring  for  his 
mother,  Miss  Wynne  replied : 

' '  She  is  better,  much  better.  You  are  to  come  to 
morrow.  You  should  come  more  often.  It  is  absurd, 
most  absurd,  that  you  are  so  tied  to  the  legs  of  a 
desk.  I  shall  speak  to  my  nephew." 

"I  beg  of  you,  madame,  to  do  no  such  thing.  I 
am  a  clerk  and  the  youngest."  And  then  a  little 
ashamed  of  his  shame,  he  added:  "I  sweep  out  the 
office  and  lock  up  at  evening.  You  would  cause  Mr. 
Wynne  to  think  I  had  asked  you. ' '  He  spoke  with 
decision. 

"It  is  ridiculous.    I  shall  explain,  make  it  easy." 

Then  he  said,  "You  will  pardon  me,  who  owe  you 
so  much,  but  I  shall  have  to  be  beforehand  and  say  I 
do  not  wish  it." 

' '  I  retreat, ' '  said  Miss  Wynne.  ' '  I  haul  down  my 
colors. ' '  He  was  quite  sure  that  she  never  would. 

"You  are  again  kind,  madame,"  he  returned. 

' '  I  hear  Mr.  Schmidt  and  the  joss, ' '  she  said  as  she 
rose,  while  Margaret,  unobserved,  cast  a  thoughtful 
glance  at  the  clerk.  It  was  a  new  type  to  her.  The 


100  THE  BED  CITY 

gravity,  the  decisiveness,  and  the  moral  courage,  al 
though  she  may  not  have  so  labeled  the  qualities, 
appealed  to  her  who  had  proudly  borne  the  annoy 
ances  of  restricted  means  among  friends  and  kindred 
who  lived  in  luxury.  She  had  heard  Schmidt  say  to 
her  mother  that  this  De  Courval  was  a  man  on  the 
way  to  the  making  of  a  larger  manhood.  Even 
young  as  she  was,  about  to  be  seventeen  in  Septem 
ber,  she  had  among  the  young  Friends  those  she 
liked  and  some  who  were  disposed  to  like  her  too 
well ;  but  this  was  another  kind  of  man. 

When  Schmidt  entered,  followed  by  Friend  Lang- 
stroth,  De  Courval  was  struck  by  the  truth  of  Gain 
er's  reference  to  the  joss.  Short,  very  fat,  a  triple 
chin  and  pendant  cheeks  under  small  eyes,  and  a 
bald  head— all  were  there. 

"You  are  both  late.  My  back  of  mutton  will  be 
overdone.  The  Vicomte  de  Courval— Mr.  Lang- 
stroth." 

1 '  Glad  to  see  thee ;  meant  to  come  and  see  thee.  I 
was  to  give  thee  this  letter,  Friend  Schmidt.  Mr. 
Wynne  sent  it.  A  messenger  came  up  from  Chester 
while  T  was  with  him  at  the  counting-house.  The 
Saucy  Sisters  was  lying  below  for  the  flood. ' ' 

Schmidt  glanced  at  it,  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket  as  they  went  in  to  dinner. 

"Any  news?"  asked  Langstroth.  "Any  news 
from  France?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Schmidt.  He  had  no 
mind  to  spoil  the  meal  with  what  he  knew  must  very 
likely  be  evil  tidings.  "It  is  from  England,"  he 
added.  Miss  Gainor,  understanding  him,  said :  ' '  We 


THE  BED  CITY  10J. 

were  to  have  had  Mr.  Hamilton.  -  I  tkink  •!  told 
you." 

"I  saw  him  at  the  office  of  the  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury,"  said  Schmidt;  "a  less  capable  successor 
he  has  in  his  place.  We  talked  much  about  the  rage 
for  lotteries,  and  he  would  stop  them  by  a  law. ' ' 

1  'He  should  let  things  alone,"  said  Langstroth. 
1 '  A  nice  muddle  he  has  made  of  it  with  his  bank  and 
his  excise." 

"And  what  do  you  know  about  it?"  said  Gainor, 
Partly. 

"  Fiddlesticks !  I  know  that  a  man  who  cannot 
manage  his  own  affairs  had  better  leave  larger  things 
alone. ' ' 

"He  has,"  said  Schmidt  quietly,  "as  I  see  it,  that 
rare  double  gift,  a  genius  for  government  and  fi 
nance." 

"Humph!"  growled  Langstroth. 

Schmidt  was  silent,  and  took  the  Wynne  Madeira 
with  honest  appreciation,  while  the  young  man  ate 
his  dinner,  amazed  at  the  display  of  bad  manners. 

Then  the  girl  beside  him  said  in  a  half -whisper : 
* '  Fiddlesticks !  Why  do  people  say  that  ?  The  violin 
is  hard  to  play,  I  hear.  Why  do  men  say  fiddlesticks  1 ' ' 

De  Courval  did  not  know,  and  Aunt  Gainor  asked, 
"What  is  that,  Margaret?" 

"I  was  saying  that  the  violin  must  be  hard  to 
play." 

"Ah,  yes,  yes,"  returned  the  hostess,  puzzled, 
while  Schmidt  smiled,  and  the  talk  fell  upon  mild 
gossip  and  the  last  horse-race— and  so  on  to  more 
perilous  ground. 


102  :  THE  BED  CITY 

,  .'/About,  lotteries,'-'  said  Josiah,  "I  have  bought 
.  chee.a  tieket,  .Margaret,  number  1792— the  lottery 
for  the  college  of  Princeton. ' ' 

"A  nice  Quaker  you  are,"  said  Miss  Wynne.  "I 
see  they  forbid  lotteries  in  Massachusetts.  The  over 
seers  of  meeting  will  be  after  you. ' ' 

"I  should  like  to  see  them.  A  damn  pretty  busi 
ness,  indeed.  Suppose  thee  were  to  win  the  big 
prize,  child."  He  spoke  the  intolerable  language 
then  becoming  common  among  Friends.  "Thee 
could  beat  Gainor  in  gowns." 

"I  should  not  be  let  to  wear  them."  Alas!  she 
saw  herself  in  brocades  and  lutestring  underskirts. 
The  young  man  ignorantly  shared  her  distress. 

1 '  There  is  small  chance  of  it,  I  fear, ' '  said  Gainor. 
"A  hundred  lottery  chances  I  have  bought,  and 
never  a  cent  the  richer."  And  so  the  talk  went  on, 
Langstroth  abusing  all  parties,  Schmidt  calmly  neu 
tral,  the  young  people  taking  small  part,  and  re 
garding  the  lottery  business  as  one  of  Josiah 's  an 
noying  jokes— no  one  in  the  least  believing  him. 

At  last  the  cloth  was  off  the  well-waxed  mahog 
any  table,  a  fresh  pair  of  decanters  set  before  the 
hostess,  and  each  guest  in  turn  toasted. 

Langstroth  had  been  for  a  time  comfortably  un- 
amiable.  He  had  said  abusive  things  of  all  parties 
in  turn,  and  now  Schmidt  amused  himself  by  add 
ing  more  superlative  abuse,  while  Gainor  Wynne, 
enjoying  the  game,  fed  Langstroth  with  exasperat 
ing  additions  of  agreement.  The  girl,  knowing  them 
all  well,  silently  watched  the  German 's  face,  his  zest 
in  annoying  Josiah  unexpressed  by  even  the  faintest 


THE  RED  CITY  103 

smile— a  perfect  actor.  De  Courval,  with  less  full 
understanding  of  the  players,  was  at  times  puzzled, 
and  heard  in  silence  Schmidt  siding  with  Josiah.  ' '  It 
was  most  agreeable,  my  dear,"  said  Mistress  Gainor 
next  day  to  one  of  her  favorites,  Tacy  Lennox. 
"Josiah  should  of  right  be  a  gentleman.  He  has  in 
vented  the  worst  manners  ever  you  saw,  my  dear 
Tacy.  He  was  like  a  mad  bull,  eager  for  war,  and 
behold— he  is  fed  and  petted.  Ah,  but  he  was  furi 
ous  and  bedazed.  Tacy,  I  would  you  had  seen  it. ' ' 

It  was  at  last  quite  too  much  of  a  trial  for  Josiah, 
who  turned  from  Gainor  to  Schmidt,  and  then  to 
De  Courval,  with  wild  opinions,  to  which  every  one 
in  turn  agreed,  until  at  last,  beginning  to  suspect 
that  he  was  being  played  with,  he  selected  a  subject 
sure  to  make  his  hostess  angry.  A  look  of  pugnaci 
ous  greed  for  a  bone  of  contest  showed  on  his  bulldog 
face  as  he  turned  to  Mistress'  Wynne.  "This  Ma 
deira  is  on  its  last  legs,  Gainor." 

' '  All  of  us  are, ' '  laughed  Schmidt. 

"  It  is  hardly  good  enough  for  my  toast. ' ' 

"Indeed,"  said  Gainor;  "we  shall  know  when  we 
hear  it." 

Then  Josiah  knew  that  for  her  to  agree  with  him 
would  this  time  be  impossible.  He  smiled.  "When 
I  am  at  home,  Gainor,  as  thee  knows,  I  drink  to  our 
lawful  king."  He  rose  to  his  feet.  "Here  's  to 
George  the  Third." 

Gainor  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"Wait  a  little,  Josiah.  Take  away  Mr.  Lang- 
stroth's  glass,  Cgesar.  Go  to  the  kitchen  and  fetch 
one  of  the  glasses  I  use  no  more  because  the  Hessian 


104  THE  BED  CITY 

hogs  used  them  for  troughs  when  they  were  quar 
tered  on  me  in  the  war.  Caesar,  a  Hessian  wine-glass 
for  Mr.  Langstroth. ' ' 

De  Courval  listened  in  astonishment,  while 
Schmidt,  laughing,  cried.  "I  will  drink  to  George 
with  pleasure. ' ' 

' '  I  know, ' '  cried  Margaret :  "  to  George  Washing 
ton." 

Schmidt  laughed.  "You  are  too  sharp,  Pearl.  In 
a  minute,  but  for  your  saucy  tongue,  I  should  have 
trapped  our  Tory  friend.  To  George  the  greater," 
said  Schmidt. 

The  Quaker  turned  down  his  glass.  "Not  I,  in 
deed." 

"I  hope  the  poor  man  will  never  hear  of  it, 
Josiah, ' '  said  Miss  Wynne  as  she  rose  laughing,  and 
presently  Schmidt  and  the  young  people  went  away, 
followed  shortly  after*  by  Langstroth. 

For  a  while  Margaret  walked  on  in  silence,  De 
Courval  and  the  German  talking.  At  last  she  said: 
' '  Thou  shouldst  know  that  my  uncle  is  not  as  bad  as 
he  seems.  He  is  really  a  kind  and  generous  man,  but 
he  loves  to  contradict  my  aunt,  and  no  one  else  can 
so  easily  make  her  angry. ' ' 

' '  Ah,  Pearl,  the  Madeira  was  good, ' '  said  Schmidt 
—"too  good;  or,  rather,  the  several  Madeiras.  In  the 
multitude  of  vinous  counselers  there  is  little  wisdom, 
and  the  man's  ways  would  tempt  an  angel  to  mis 
chief." 

Mrs.  Swanwick,  being  alone,  had  gone  out  to  take 
supper  with  a  friend,  and  as  Margaret  left  them  in 
the  hall,  Schmidt  said  to  De  Courval :  * '  Come  in.  I 


THE  EED  CITY  105 

have  a  great  package  from  Gouverneur  Morris,  from 
Paris.  You  may  as  well  hear  what  news  there  is. 
I  saw  your  anxiety,  but  I  was  of  no  mind  to  have 
that  imitation  Quaker  discuss  the  agony  of  a  great 
nation. ' ' 

It  took  two  months  or  more  to  hear  from  France, 
and  each  week  added  to  the  gathering  anxiety  with 
which  De  Courval  awaited  news.  He  was  grateful 
for  the  daily  labor,  with  its  steady  exactions,  which 
forbade  excessive  thought  of  the  home  land,  for  no 
sagacity  of  his  friend  or  any  forecast  that  man  could 
make  three  thousand  miles  away  was  competent  to 
predict  the  acts  of  the  sinister  historic  drama  on 
which  the  curtain  was  rising  far  away  in  France. 

As  the  German  opened  the  envelop  and  set  aside 
letter  after  letter,  he  talked  on  in  his  disconnected 
way.  ' '  I  could  like  some  bad  men  more  than  Josiah 
Langstroth.  He  has  what  he  calls  opinions,  and  will 
say,  'Welladay,'— no,  that  is  my  bastard  English,— 
he  will  say  'Well,  at  all  events,  that  is  my  opinion.' 
What  means  'all  events,'  Herr  Rene?  A  kick  would 
change  them.  'T  is  an  evenlb— a  kick.  And  Mistress 
Wynne  is  sometimes  not  easy  to  endure.  She  steps 
heavily  on  tender  toes,  even  when  on  errands  of 
goodness."  The  younger  man  scarce  heard  these 
comments  as  letter  after  letter  was  put  aside,  until 
at  last  he  put  down  his  pipe,  and  Schmidt  said:  "I 
was  sorry  to  keep  you,  but  now  this  last  letter  has  it 
all—all.  There  is  no  detail,  my  friend,  but  enough- 
enough.  He  writes  me  all  France  is  in  a  ferment. 
This  is  from  Mr.  Morris,  whom  our  mobocrats  loathe 
for  an  aristocrat.  He  writes :  *  The  King  has  vetoed 


106  THE  BED  CITY 

two  bills,  one  about  the  priests  and  one  of  less  mo 
ment.  La  Fayette  is  in  disgrace,  and  wants  the 
surgeon's  courage  to  let  blood.  Worst  of  all,  and  I 
write  in  haste,'  he  says,  'a  mob  on  June  20th  broke 
into  the  Tuileries  and  there,  in  the  (Eil  de  Boeuf,  a 
butcher  mocked  the  King  to  his  face  as  Monsieur 
Veto.  The  King  laughed,  it  is  said,  and  set  their 
damned  bonnet  on  his  head,  and  drew  his  sword,  and 
cried  "Vive  la  nation!"  The  war  goes  ill  or  well  as 
yon  please;  ill  for  all,  I  fear.  Dillon  was  murdered 
by  his  own  regiment  after  a  retreat.'  : 

"I  knew  him  in  the  army,"  said  De  Courval.  "I 
was  young  then.  But  the  king— has  he  no  courage? 
Are  they  all  mad  ? ' ' 

''No.  He  has  not  the  courage  of  action.  He  has 
the  courage  to  endure,  if  that  is  to  be  so  nominated. 
The  other  is  needed  just  now.  That  is  all— all." 

"And  too  much." 

"Yes.  Come,  let  us  go  out  and  fence  a  bit  in  the 
garden,  and  sweat  out  too  much  Madeira.  Come, 
there  is  still  light  enough." 


VIII 

THROUGH  the  quiet  of  a  Sunday  morning,  De 
Courval  rode  slowly  up  Fifth  Street,  and  into  a 
land  of  farms  and  woodland,  to  spend  a  quiet  day 
alone  with  his  mother,  Miss  Wynne,  not  altogether 
to  the  young  man  's  regret,  having  to  remain  in  town 
over  Monday.  As  he  came  to  the  scenes  where 
Schmidt,  in  their  walks  of  Sundays,  had  explained  to 
him  Washington's  well-laid  plan  of  the  Germantown 
battle,  he  began  at  last  to  escape  for  a  time  the  too 
sad  reflection  which  haunted  his  hours  of  leisure  in 
the  renewed  interest  of  a  young  soldier  who  had 
known  only  the  army  life,  but  never  actual  war.  He 
bent  low  in  the  saddle,  hat  off  to  a  group  on  the  lawn 
at  Cliveden,  the  once  war-battered  home  of  the 
Chews,  and  was  soon  after  kissing  his  mother  on 
the  porch  of  the  Hill  farm. 

There  was  disquieting  news  to  tell  of  France,  and 
he  soon  learned  that  despite  the  heat  and  mosquitos 
she  preferred  the  tranquillity  of  the  widow's  home 
to  the  luxury  of  Miss  Wynne's  house.  She  was  as 
usual  calmly  decided,  and  he  did  not  urge  her  to  stay 
longer.  She  would  return  to  the  city  on  Thursday. 
They  talked  of  money  matters,  with  reticence  on  his 
part  in  regard  to  Schmidt's  kindness  and  good  coun 
sels,  and  concerning  the  satisfaction  Mr.  Wynne  had 
expressed  with  regard  to  his  secretary. 

''It  may  be  good  training  for  thee,  my  son,"  she 

107 


108  THE  BED  CITY 

said  and  then,  after  a  pause,  ' '  I  begin  to  comprehend 
these  people,"  and,  pleased  with  her  progress,  made 
little  ventures  in  English  to  let  him  see  how  well 
she  was  learning  to  speak.  An  habitual  respect 
made  him  refrain  from  critical  corrections,  but  he 
looked  up  in  open  astonishment  when  she  said  rather 
abruptly:  "The  girl  in  her  gray  gowns  is  on  the 
way  to  become  one  of  the  women  about  whom  men 
go  wild.  Neither  are  you  very  ugly,  my  son.  Have 
a  care;  but  a  word  from  me  should  suffice." 

"Oh,  mother,"  he  exclaimed,  "do  not  misunder 
stand  me ! " 

'  *  My  son,  I  know  you  are  not  as  some  of  the  light- 
minded  cousins  we  knew  in  France ;  but  a  word  of 
warning  does  no  harm,  even  if  it  be  not  needed. ' ' 

' '  I  think  you  may  be  at  ease,  maman.  You  amaze 
me  when  you  call  her  beautiful.  A  pleasant  little 
maid  she  seems  to  me,  and  not  always  the  same,  and 
at  times  gay,— oh,  when  away  from  her  mother,— 
and  intelligent,  too.  But  beautiful— oh,  hardly. 
Soyez  tranquille,  maman." 

"I  did  not  say  she  was  beautiful.  I  said  she  was 
good-looking;  or  that  at  least  was  what  I  meant. 
Certainly  she  is  unlike  our  too  ignorant  demoiselles ; 
but  contrast  with  the  familiar  may  have  its  peril. 
It  is  quite  another  type  from  our  young  women  at 
home,  and  attractive  enough  in  its  way— in  its  bour 
geois  way." 

He  smiled.  "I  am  quite  too  busy  to  concern  my 
self  with  young  women."  In  fact  he  had  begun  to 
find  interest  in  a  little  study  of  this  new  type.  "Yes, 
quite  too  busy." 


THE  BED  CITY  109 

"That  is  as  well."  But  she  was  not  at  ease.  On 
the  whole,  she  thought  it  would  be  proper  now  for 
him  to  go  to  Mrs.  Bingham's  and  to  the  President's 
receptions.  Miss  Wynne  would  see  that  he  had  the 
entree.  He  was  too  occupied,  he  said  once  more, 
and  his  clothes  were  quite  unfit.  Neither  was  he  in 
clined  yet  awhile.  And  so  he  rode  away  to  town 
with  several  things  to  think  about,  and  on  Thurs 
day  the  vicomtesse  made  clear  to  the  well-pleased 
Mrs.  Swanwick  that  she  was  glad  of  the  quiet  and 
the  English  lessons  and  the  crisp  talk  of  Schmidt, 
who  spoke  French,  but  not  fluently,  and  concerning 
whom  she  was  mildly  jealous  and,  for  her,  curious. 
"Schmidt,  my  son?  No;  a  name  disguised.  He  is 
a  gentleman  to  his  finger-ends,  but  surely  a  strange 
one." 

"It  is  enough,  maman,  that  he  is  my  friend. 
Often  I,  too,  am  curious;  but— ah,  well,  I  wonder 
why  he  likes  me ;  but  he  does,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. ' ' 

"You  wonder.    I  do  not,"  and  she  smiled. 

"Ah,  the  vain  mamanl"  he  cried.  It  was  very 
rare  that  she  praised  him,  and  she  was  by  long  habit 
given  to  no  demonstrations  of  affection. 

Two  weeks  ran  on  in  the  quiet  routine  of  the 
Quaker  home  and  the  increasing  work  of  the  great 
shipping  merchant.  De  Courval  was  more  and 
more  used  by  "Wynne  in  matters  other  than  copying 
letters  in  French.  Sometimes,  too,  he  was  trusted 
with  business  affairs  demanding  judgment,  and  al 
though  Wynne  spoke  no  word  of  praise,  neither  was 
there  any  word  of  censure,  and  he  watched  the 
clerk  with  interest  and  growing  regard.  Twice  he 


110  THE  EED  CITY 

sent  him  to  New  York,  and  once  on  an  errand  to 
Baltimore,  where  he  successfully  collected  some  long 
standing  debts.  A  new  clerk  had  come,  and  De 
Courval,  to  his  relief,  was  no  longer  expected  to 
sweep  out  the  counting-house. 

By  degrees  Wynne  fully  realized  that  he  had 
found  a  helper  of  unusual  capacity,  and  more  and 
more,  as  the  great  and  varied  business  attracted  De 
Courval,  he  was  taken  into  Wynne's  confidence,  and 
saw  the  ships  come  and  go,  and  longed  to  share  the 
peril  and  see  the  wonders  of  the  ocean.  There  were 
great  tuns  of  wine  from  Madeira  on  the  pier  or  in 
the  cellars.  Gentlemen  came  to  taste  it,  men  with 
historic  names— General  Wayne,  Colonel  Lear  for 
the  President,  and  Mr.  Justice  Yeates.  De  Courval 
was  bade  to  knock  out  bungs  and  dip  in  tasting  vials. 
Also  Miss  Wynne  came  to  refill  her  cellar,  but  took 
small  notice  of  him.  He  was  out  of  favor  for  a  sea 
son,  and  her  nephew  had  laughed  at  her  remon 
strances. 

"A  thoroughbred  put  to  the  work  of  a  farm- 
horse!" 

"Nonsense,  Aunt  Gainor!  Let  him  alone.  You 
can  not  spoil  him,  as  you  did  me.  There  is  stuff  in 
the  fellow  worth  a  dozen  of  my  clerks.  At  six  they 
are  gone.  If  there  is  work  to  do,  he  stays  till  nine. 
What  that  man  wants,  he  will  get.  What  he  sets 
himself  to  do,  he  does.  Let  him  alone." 

"A  miserably  paid  clerk,"  she  cried.  "He  de 
serves  no  better.  I  wash  my  hands  of  him." 

"There  is  soap  in  the  closet,"  he  laughed. 

She  went  away  angry,  and  saw  the  young  noble 


THE  BED  CITY  111 

talking  with  a  ruddy  gentleman  whose  taste  in  wine 
has  made  his  name  familiar  at  the  dining-tables  of 
the  last  hundred  years.  Major  Butler  was  asking 
the  vicomte  to  dine,  and  promising  a  perilous  educa 
tion  in  the  vintages  of  Madeira. 

When  the  major  had  gone,  Mr.  Wynne  sent  for 
his  clerk.  To  be  opposed  was  apt  to  stiffen  his  Welsh 
obstinacy.  "Your  wages  are  to  be  now,  sir,  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  livres,— fifty  dollars  a  month,— and 
you  are  doing  well,  very  well ;  but  the  clerks  are  not 
to  know,  except  Mr.  Potts."  He  owed  this  unusual 
advance  to  Miss  Wynne,  but  probably  the  master 
was  as  little  aware  of  what  had  caused  it  as  was  the 
irate  spinster.  De  Courval  thanked  him  quietly, 
knowing  perfectly  well  that  he  had  fairly  earned 
what  was  so  pleasantly  given. 

It  was  now  the  Saturday  sennight  mentioned  by 
Margaret  as  the  day  when  Mr.  Hamilton  was  to 
come  to  settle  certain  small  business  matters  with 
Mrs.  Swanwick.  Some  wit,  or  jealous  dame,  as 
Schmidt  had  said,  called  Mrs.  Swan  wick's  the  Qua 
ker  salon ;  and,  in  fact,  men  of  all  types  of  opinion 
came  hither.  Friends  there  were,  the  less  strict, 
and  at  times  some,  like  Wain,  to  protest  in  their 
frank  way  against  the  too  frequent  company  of 
world's  people,  and  to  go  away  disarmed  by  gentle 
firmness.  Mrs.  Swan  wick's  love  of  books  and  her 
keen  interest  in  every  new  thing,  and  now  the  open 
ing  mind  and  good  looks  of  Margaret,  together  with 
the  thoughtful  neutralit}^  of  Schmidt,  captured  men, 
young  and  old,  who  were  apt  to  come  especially  on  a 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  there  was  leisure  even  for 


112  THE  RED  CITY 

busy  statesmen.  Hither  came  Aaron  Burr— the  wo 
man-hawk,  Aunt  Gainor  called  him,  with  his  dark, 
fateful  face;  Pickering,  in  after  days  of  the  "War 
Department ;  Wolcott,  to  be  the  scarce  adequate  suc 
cessor  of  Hamilton;  Logan,  and  gay  cousins— not 
often  more  than  one  or  two  at  a  time— with,  rarely, 
the  Master  of  the  Rolls  and  Robert  Morris,  and  Mr. 
Justice  Chew— in  fact,  what  was  best  in  the  social 
life  of  the  city. 

Mr.  Hamilton  was  shut  up  with  Mrs.  Swanwick 
in  the  withdrawing-room,  busy.  It  was  now  too  late 
to  expect  visitors — five  o'clock  of  a  summer  after 
noon.  The  vicomtesse  avoided  this  interesting  so 
ciety,  and  at  last  Rene  ceased  to  urge  her  to  share 
what  he  himself  found  so  agreeable.  Margaret  sat 
entranced  in  the  "Castle  of  Otranto,"  hardly  hear 
ing  the  click,  click,  of  the  fencing-foils  on  the  grass 
plot  not  far  away.  Birds  were  in  the  air;  a  wood 
pecker  was  busy  on  a  dead  tree;  bees,  head  down, 
were  accumulating  honey  for  the  hive  at  the  foot  of 
the  garden;  and  a  breeze  from  the  river  was  blow 
ing  through  the  hall  and  out  at  the  hospitably  open 
front  door— a  peaceful  scene,  with  still  the  ring 
and  clash  of  the  foils  and  De  Courval's  merry 
laughter. 

' '  A  hit,  a  palpable  hit ! "  said  a  voice  behind  Mar 
garet  as  she  rose. 

"Thou  art  dead  for  a  ducat— dead,  Friend  de 
Courval." 

' '  Ah, ' '  said  Schmidt,  ' '  a  critic.  Does  it  look  easy, 
Mr.  de  Forest?" 

"I  am  a  man  of  peace,  how  shouldst  I  know?  but 


Well  played  ! '  cried  Schmidt— 'the  jest  and  the  rapier'" 


THE  RED  CITY  115 

che  game  looks  easy."  He  threw  up  his  head  and 
stretched  out  his  hand.  '  *  Let  me  look  at  the  thing. ' ' 

' '  Then  take  off  your  coat  and  put  on  a  mask.  But 
I  shall  not  hurt  you;  there  is  no  need  for  the 
mask. ' ' 

He  was  quietly  amused,  and  if  only  Nicholas 
Wain  would  come;  for  now  the  Quaker  gentleman 
had  put  aside  hat  and  coat,  and  in  plainest  gray 
homespun  faced  him,  a  stalwart,  soldierly  figure. 

"How  does  thee  hold  it,  Friend  Schmidt?  Ah, 
so?" 

In  a  moment  the  German  knew  that  he  was  cross 
ing  blades  with  a  master  of  the  small  sword.  Mar 
garet  and  De  Courval  looked  on  merrily  exchang 
ing  gay  glances. 

"Dead,"  cried  De  Forest,  as  he  struck  fair  over 
the  German 's  heart,  '  *  and  a  damn  good  hit ! ' ' 

"Well  played!"  cried  Schmidt— "the  jest  and  the 
rapier.  Another  bout— no!"  To  his  surprise  he 
saw  the  Quaker  gentleman's  face  change  as  he  has 
tily  put  on  his  coat. 

"Thank  thee,"  he  said  to  De  Courval  as  the 
young  man  handed  him  his  hat,  and  without  other 
words  than  "I  bid  thee  good  day.  I  shall  not  bide 
this  afternoon,"  went  into  the  hall  and  out  of  the 
farther  door,  passing  with  bowed  head  and  without 
a  word  a  gentleman  who  entered. 

Schmidt  showed  little  of  the  astonishment  easily 
read  on  De  Courval's  face,  who,  however,  said  noth 
ing,  having  been  taught  to  be  chary  of  comments  on 
his  elders ;  and  now  taking  up  his  foil  again,  fell  on 
guard. 


116  THE  BED  CITY 

11 A  man  haunted  by  his  past,"  said  Schmidt,  as 
was  in  fact  explained  at  breakfast  next  day,  when 
Mrs.  Swan  wick,  being  questioned,  said:  "Yes.  He 
was  a  colonel  in  the  war,  and  of  reckless  courage. 
Later  he  returned  to  Friends,  and  now  and  then  has 
lapses  in  his  language  and  his  ways,  and  is  filled 
with  remorse. " 

"The  call  of  the  sword  was  too  much  for  him," 
said  Schmidt.  ' '  I  can  comprehend  that.  But  he  had 
a  minute  of  the  joy  of  battle." 

"And  then,"  said  the  Pearl,  "he  had  a  war  with 
himself." 

"The  maid  is  beginning  to  think,"  said  Schmidt 
to  himself.  But  this  was  all  on  the  next  day. 

As  the  tall  man  came  out  on  the  porch,  Margaret 
said:  "My  mother  is  occupied.  Friend  Schmidt, 
thou  knowest  Friend  Jefferson ;  and  this  is  our  new 
lodger,"  and  she  said  boldly,  "the  Vicomte  de 
Courval." 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  Jefferson,  "we  have  met  before. 
And  madame  is  well,  I  trust?" 

"Yes;  but  at  this  hour  she  rests.  We  owe  you, 
sir,  our  thanks  for  the  good  chance  of  finding  what 
has  been  to  us  most  truly  a  home." 

Margaret  looked  up  pleased,  she  did  not  fully 
know  why.  And  so  he  did  really  like  them  and 
their  quiet  home? 

Presently  Schmidt  said  to  Jefferson:  "There  is 
sad  news  from  France,  Mr.  Secretary." 

"Good  news,  Citizen;  altogether  good.  What  if 
men  die  that  a  people  may  live?  Men  die  in  war. 
What  is  the  difference?  Titles  will  go,  a  king  be 


THE  BED  CITY  117 

swept  on  to  the  dust-heap  of  history."  A  hot  an 
swer  was  on  the  lips  of  the  young  noble.  He  turned, 
vexed  at  the  loss  of  his  chance  as  Alexander  Hamil 
ton  and  Mrs.  Swanwick  joined  them.  Jefferson 
ceased  to  speak  to  Schmidt,  and  the  two  states 
men  met  with  the  formal  courtesy  of  bitter  hatred. 
Jefferson  could  see  no  good  in  the  brilliant  finance 
of  the  man  who  now  talked  writh  courteous  ease  to 
one  or  another.  The  new-comer  was  slight  of  figure, 
bright-eyed,  with  the  deep  line  so  rarely  seen  where 
the  nose  meets  the  forehead,  and  above  all  graceful, 
as  few  men  are.  The  face  was  less  mobile  than  that 
of  Jefferson,  who  resembled  to  a  strange  degree  the 
great  actor  of  his  name,  a  resemblance  only  to  be  ex 
plained  by  some  common  English  ancestry  in  an  un- 
traceable  past.  He  had  been  to  a  bad  school  in 
France  as  minister,  and  perhaps  had  by  this  time 
forgotten  the  day  when  he  desired  his  agent  in  Lon 
don  to  find  for  him  a  coat  of  arms. 

Presently,  after  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Swanwick,  Jeffer 
son,  ill-pleased  to  meet  Hamilton,  was  of  a  mind  to 
go.  Quite  aware  that  he  meant  to  leave  a  little 
sting,  he  said :  "  I  must  be  gone.  Good-by ' ' ;  and  to 
Hamilton :  * '  You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  the  good 
news  from  France— Citizen?" 

"I  have  heard  of  needless  murder  and  of  a  weak, 
ill-served,  kindly  king  insulted  by  a  mob  of  ruffians. ' ' 

Jefferson's  thin  face  grew  yet  more  somber;  but 
what  reply  the  secretary  might  have  made  was  put 
aside  by  the  cheerful  coming  of  a  man  in  plain,  but 
not  Quaker  clothes,  a  republican  Jacobin  of  the  mad 
dest,  as  was  seen  by  his  interchange  of  "  Citizen 


•>  > 


118  THE  EED  CITY 

with  Jefferson,  and  the  warm  welcome  he  received. 
Thus  reinforced,  Jefferson  lingered  where  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick  and  Margaret  were  busy  with  the  hot  chocolate, 
which  Hamilton,  from  youthful  habit,  liked.  At  a 
word  from  their  hostess,  De  Courval  took  a  basket, 
and  presently  brought  from  the  garden  slope  peaches 
such  as  any  back  yard  among  us  grew  in  my  child 
hood — yellow  clingstones  and  open  hearts.  The 
widow  ministered  to  the  other  statesman,  who  liked 
peaches  and  was  not  to  be  neglected  even  for  her 
favorite  Hamilton,  now  busily  discussing  with 
Schmidt  the  news  sent  by  Gouverneur  Morris. 

The  new-comer  had  paid  no  least  attention  to  his 
hostess,  but  sat  down  at  the  table  and  fingered  the 
jumbles,  apees,  and  cake  known  as  "  lovers  '-knots " 
of  Nanny's  make,  until  he  discovered  one  to  his 
fancy.  Mrs.  Swanwick  gave  no  obvious  sign  of  an 
noyance,  but  smilingly  stirred  the  chocolate,  while 
Margaret  quietly  removed  the  dish  of  cakes  and 
gave  the  guest  a  slice  of  sweetened  bread  known  as 
"Dutch  loaf." 

11  There  are  fewer  currants  in  the  cake  than  there 
were  last  week,"  remarked  the  astronomer,  for,  as 
Schmidt  said  in  an  aside  to  De  Courval  and  Hamil 
ton,  as  they  watched  the  great  eat  like  lesser  folk: 
"This  is  the  famous  astronomer,  David  Rittenhouse. 
He  divides  his  thoughts  between  the  heavens  and  his 
diet ;  and  what  else  there  is  of  him  is  Jacobin. ' ' 

"I  wish,"  said  Hamilton,  "that  heaven  equally 
engaged  the  rest  of  his  party.  May  not  I  have  my 
chocolate,  Mrs.  Swanwick?" 

' '  Certainly ;  and  might  I  be  noticed  a  little  ? ' '  said 


THE  BED  CITY  119 

Mrs.  Swan  wick  to  Rittenhouse.  The  absent-minded 
philosopher  looked  up  and  said : 

"I  forgot.    Pardon  me,  Citess." 

Hamilton  laughed  merrily.  ''Is  that  the  last  in 
vention?" 

"It  sounds  like  the  name  of  some  wild  little  ani 
mal,  ' '  said  the  Pearl. 

"Neat,  that,  Margaret,"  said  Hamilton;  "and 
might  I,  too,  have  a  peach?  Mr.  Jefferson  has 
emptied  the  basket. ' ' 

Margaret  rose,  and  with  De  Courval  went  down 
the  garden,  a  fair  presentment  of  the  sexes,  seen  and 
approved  by  Hamilton,  while  Jefferson  said  gaily : 

"The  transit  of  Venus,  Rittenhouse,"  for  it  was 
that  observation  which  had  given  this  star-gazer 
fame  and  recognition  abroad. 

"My  compliments,  sir,"  said  Schmidt.  "I  regret 
not  to  have  said  it." 

Jefferson  bowed.  He  was  at  his  best,  for  neither 
manners  nor  wit  were  wanting  in  his  social 
hour.  The  astronomer,  without  comment,  went  on 
eating  sweet  bread.  They  drank  chocolate  and 
chatted  idly  of  the  new  luxury— ice-cream,  which 
Monsieur  de  Malerive  made  for  a  living,  and  sold  on 
the  mall  we  now  call  Independence  Square.  They 
talked,  too,  of  the  sad  influx  of  people  from  San  Do 
mingo;  the  widow,  attentive,  intellectually  sympa 
thetic,  a  pleasant  portrait  of  what  the  silver-clad 
Pearl  would  be  in  days  to  come;  she,  the  girl,  lean 
ing  against  a  pillar  of  the  porch,  a  gray  figure  si 
lently  watchful,  curious,  behind  her  for  background 
the  velvets  of  the  rival  statesmen,  the  long  broidered 


120  THE  BED  CITY 

waistcoats,  the  ribbon-tied  queues,  and  the  two 
strongly  contrasted  faces.  Perhaps  only  Schmidt 
recognized  the  grace  and  power  of  the  group  on  the 
porch. 

The  warm  August  evening  was  near  its  close,  and 
a  dark  storm,  which  hung  threateningly  over  the  Jer 
sey  shore,  broke  up  the  party.  Warned  by  rolling 
thunder,  the  three  men  went  away  in  peaceful  talk. 

*  *  The  hate  they  have  buried  in  their  bellies, ' '  said 
Schmidt;  "but,  Rene,  they  are  of  the  peerage,  say 
what  they  may.  Equality!  Der  gute  Himmel!  All 
men  equal— and  why  not  all  women,  too !  He  left  that 
out.  Equal  before  the  law,  perhaps— not  his  slaves ; 
before  God,  no— nor  man.  Does  he  think  Hamilton 
his  equal  ?  He  does  not  love  the  gentleman  entirely. 
But  these  two  are,  as  fate,  inevitable  withal,  rulers 
of  men.  I  have  seen  the  labeled  creatures  of  other 
lands— kings,  ministers.  These  men  you  saw  here 
are  the  growth  of  a  virgin  soil— Ac/t/  '  There  were 
giants  in  those  days,'  men  will  say."  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick  listened  quietly,  considering  what  was  said,  not 
always  as  quick  as  Margaret  to  understand  the  Ger 
man.  He  spoke  further  of  the  never-pleased  Vir 
ginian,  and  then  the  widow,  who  had  kindness  for  all 
and  respect  for  what  she  called  experienced  opinion, 
avoiding  to  be  herself  the  critic  and  hiding  behind  a 
quotation,  said,  '  *  '  There  be  many  that  say,  Who  will 
shew  us  any  good  ? ' 

1 '  Fine  Bible  wisdom, ' '  said  Schmidt. 

By  and  by  when  she  had  gone  away  with  Margaret 
about  household  matters,  Schmidt  said  to  De  Cour- 
val :  '  *  That  is  one  of  the  beautiful  flowers  of  the  for- 


THE  RED  CITY  121 

mal  garden  of  Fox  and  Penn.  The  creed  suits  the 
temperament— a  garden  rose;  but  my  Pearl— Ach! 
a  wild  rose,  creed  and  creature  not  matched;  nor 
ever  will  be. ' ' 

"I  have  had  a  delightful  afternoon,"  said  Rene, 
unable  or  indisposed  to  follow  the  German's  lead. 
"Supper  will  be  late.  You  promised  me  the  new 
book." 

"Yes;  Smith's  'Wealth  of  Nations,'  not  easy  read 
ing,  but  worth  while. ' ' 

Thereafter  the  busy  days  ran  on  into  weeks,  and 
in  October  of  this  tragic  1792  came  the  appalling 
news  of  the  murdered  Swiss,  self-sacrificed  for  no 
country  and  no  large  principle  beyond  the  pledge  of 
an  oath  to  a  foreign  king.  More  horrible  was  the  mas 
sacre  of  the  priests  in  the  garden  of  the  Carmelites. 

To  Rene's  relief,  these  unlooked-for  riots  of  mur 
der  seemed  to  affect  his  mother  less  than  he  had 
feared  might  be  the  case.  "My  husband's  death 
was,  my  son,  a  prophecy  of  what  was  to  come. ' '  To 
her  it  was  all  personal.  For  him  it  was  far  more, 
and  the  German  alone  understood  the  double  anguish 
of  a  man  in  whom  contended  a  puzzled  horror  at 
deaths  without  apparent  reason,  of  murders  of  wo 
men  like  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe,— an  orgy  of  ob 
scene  insult, — and  a  wild  anger  at  the  march  of  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick  upon  Paris.  It  was  his  country, 
after  all,  and  he  left  his  mother  feeling  disappointed 
that  she  did  not  share  his  hostile  feeling  in  regard  to 
the  emigres  in  the  German  army. 

The  wonderful  autumn  colors  of  October  and  No 
vember  came  and  passed,  a  new  wonder  to  the  young 


122  THE  BED  CITY 

man ;  his  mother,  to  all  seeming  contented,  spending 
her  evenings  with  him  over  English  lessons,  or 
French  books  out  of  Logan's  excellent  library,  or 
busy  with  never-finished  embroidery.  On  Sundays 
they  went  to  Gloria  Dei,  the  modest  little  church  of 
the  Swedes.  There  to-day,  amid  the  roar  of  trade 
and  shipyards,  in  the  churchyard  the  birds  sing  over 
the  grave  of  their  historian,  Wilson,  and  worn  epi 
taphs  relate  the  love  and  griefs  of  a  people  whose 
blood  is  claimed  with  pride  by  the  historic  families 
of  Pennsylvania. 

During  these  months,  Aunt  Gainor  was  long  ab 
sent  in  Boston  on  a  visit,  a  little  to  the  relief  of  the 
vicomtesse.  Schmidt,  too,  was  away  in  New  York,  to 
the  regret  of  Rene,  who  had  come  more  and  more  to 
feel  wholesomely  his  influence  and  increasing  at 
tachment.  The  money  help  had  set  him  at  ease,  and 
he  could  now  laugh  when,  on  counting  the  coin  in  the 
drawer,  he  found  it  undiminished.  He  had  remon 
strated  in  vain.  The  German  smiled.  "A  year 
more,  and  I  shall  be  out  of  debt."  Had  Rene  not 
heard  of  the  widow's  cruse?  "I  must  be  honest. 
'T  is  my  time.  The  grateful  bee  in  my  bonnet  does 
but  improve  the  shining  hour  of  opportunity. 
AVhat  was  there  to  do  but  laugh?"  And  Rene  at 
last  laughed. 

December  came  with  snow  and  gray  skies,  and 
the  great  business  De  Courval  had  grown  to  feel  his 
own  felt  the  gathering  storm  caused  by  the  decree  of 
freedom  to  white  and  black  in  the  French  islands. 
The  great  shipmasters,  Clark,  Willing,  Girard,  the 
free-thinking  merchant,  and  Wynne,  were  all  looking 


THE  BED  CITY  123 

as  bleak  as  the  weather,  and  prudently  ceased  to 
make  their  usual  sea-ventures  before  the  ice  formed, 
while  at  the  coffee-houses  the  war  between  England 
and  France,  more  and  more  near,  threatened  new 
perils  to  the  commerce  of  the  sea. 

On  January  27,  1793,  being  Saturday,  while  De 
Courval,  Wolcott,  and  Gilbert  Stuart,  the  artist,  sat 
chatting  with  Hamilton  in  the  dining-rorom  and 
drinking  the  widow 's  chocolate,  the  painter  was  beg 
ging  leave  to  make  a  picture  of  Margaret,  and  asking 
them  to  come  and  see  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Jackson, 
one  of  the  three  charming  sisters  of  Mr.  Bingham. 

"No,  there  must  be  no  portrait.  It  is  against  the 
way  of  Friends,"  said  the  mother.  "I  should  hear 
of  it  from  Friend  Wain  and  others,  too. ' ' 

What  more  there  was,  Rene  did  not  learn.  The 
painter  was  urgent.  Stuart  did  paint  her  long  after 
ward,  in  glorious  splendor  of  brocade,  beautiful  with 
powder  and  nature's  rouge.  But  now  came  Nanny, 
the  black  maid,  and  waited  while  Margaret  shyly 
won  a  little  talk  with  Hamilton,  who  loved  the  girl. 
' '  I  have  been  thinking, ' '  she  said,  ' '  of  Friend  Jeffer 
son.  Why,  sir,  do  they  have  any  titles  at  all,  even 
Citizen  1  I  think  a  number  would  be  still  more  sim 
ple."  She  was  furnishing  an  elder  with  another  of 
the  unlooked-for  bits  of  humor  which  attest  the  flor 
escence  of  a  mind  gathering  sense  of  the  comic  as  the 
years  run  on  and  the  fairy  godmother,  Nature,  has 
her  way. 

"Good  heaven,  child!  if  Mr.  Jefferson  had  his 
will  with  your  numeration,  I  should  be  zero,  and  he 
the  angel  of  arithmetic  alone  knows  what. ' ' 


124  THE  KED  CITY 

"What  is  it,  Nanny?"  said  the  mother. 

"Massa  Wynne  want  to  see  Massa  Courval— right 
away  in  the  front  room." 

De  Courval,  wondering  what  had  happened,  and 
why  he  was  wanted  in  haste,  found  Wynne  in 
Schmidt's  sitting-room.  "Close  the  door,"  said  the 
master,  "and  sit  down.  I  have  much  to  say  to  you, 
and  little  time.  There  is  great  disturbance  in  San 
Domingo.  I  have  debts  due  me  there,  and,  by  ill 
chance,  a  cargo  probably  to  be  there  soon— the 
George  Washington,  as  you  may  remember.  You 
made  out  the  bill  of  lading  in  French." 

"I  recall  it,  sir." 

' '  The  debts  may  go  for  hopeless.  The  cargo  is  lost 
if  landed.  Port  au  Prince  and  Cap  Frangais  are  in 
terror,  the  planters  flying  to  the  towns,  the  planta 
tions  in  ruins.  The  decree  of  freedom  for  the  black 
has  roused  the  devil  among  the  slaves,  and  the  low- 
class  whites  are  ruling  the  towns."  He  paused  to 
think,  and  then  added :  "  I  send  out  to-morrow  with 
the  flood  my  fastest  ship,  the  schooner  Marie,  with 
out  cargo,  mind  you.  Will  you  go,  nominally  as  su 
percargo  1  You  are  more  thoughtful  than  your  years 
would  imply.  You  are  twenty-seven,  I  think  you 
said.  What  you  are  worth  in  danger — and  there  will 
be  much— I  do  not  know.  There  may  be  questions 
involving  grave  decisions,  involving  courageous 
action,  not  merely  what  every  gentleman  has— mere 
personal  fearlessness.  I  am  plain,  I  trust." 
De  Courval  was  silent. 

"If  you  get  there  first,  I  save  a  large  loss.     Once 
ashore,  the  cargo  will  be  seized,  and  not  a  cent  paid 


THE  BED  CITY  125 

for  it.  It  is  to  take  or  leave,  Mr.  de  Courval ;  I  shall 
not  blame  you  if  you  say  no.  But  if  you  do  say  no,  I 
must  go.  The  loss  may  be  serious. ' ' 

Here  was  a  chance  to  repay  much  kindness,  and 
the  threat  of  danger  stirred  the  young  man's  blood. 
"How  long  should  I  be  absent?" 

' '  I  do  not  know.  The  ship  may  have  gone  to  Mar 
tinique,  also.  There  were  goods  for  both  islands." 

' '  There  is  but  one  question,  sir— my  mother.  She 
has  no  one  else.  And  may  I  talk  to  Mr.  Schmidt  1 ' ' 

' '  To  no  one  better,  if  he  were  here.  He  is  not,  and 
I  cannot  wrait.  I  shall  call  for  your  answer  at  nine 
to-night.  The  tide  serves  at  6  A.M.  I  ought  to  say 
that  your  perfect  English  and  as  perfect  French  en 
able  you  to  pass  for  being  of  one  nation  or  the  other. 
Best  to  be  an  American.  And  De  Courval?  No; 
that  is  too  plainly  French." 

"I  am  Louis  Rene.  Why  not  Mr.  Lewis,  sir,  at 
need?" 

' '  Good !  Excellent !  I  shall  write  my  instructions 
with  care.  They  will  be  full ;  but  much  must  be  left 
to  you  and  the  master. ' ' 

"Captain  Biddle,  I  suppose." 

"Yes.  A  resolute  old  sea-dog,  but  who  will  obey 
because  I  order  it.  Good  night.  At  nine— I  must 
know  at  nine." 

De  Courval  lost  no  time.  His  mother  was  alone, 
as  usual  avoiding  the  Saturday  visitors. 

"Oh,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  stood  outside  of 
her  door,  "you  must  let  me  go." 

He  paused  before  he  knocked.  Gratitude,  interest, 
awakened  eagerness  for  perilous  adventure,  called 


126  THE  EED  CITY 

him  to  this  voyage.  He  had  then,  as  on  later  occa 
sions  one  source  of  indecision— the  mother.  If  she 
said  no,  he  must  stay;  but  would  she?  He  knocked 
gently,  and  in  a  moment  was  standing  at  her  side. 

She  set  aside  her  embroidery-frame.  ''What  is 
wrong  1 ' '  she  said.  "  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any  more 
evil  news— or  at  least,  no  details.  Who  else  is  dead 
of  those  we  cared  for  ? ' ' 

"No  one,  mother.  Mr.  Wynne  wishes  me  to  sail 
for  him  at  dawn  to-morrow  for  San  Domingo.  I  may 
be  in  time  to  save  him  much  money." 

"Well,"  she  said  coldly,  "what  else?"  Her  face, 
always  grave,  became  stern.  "And  so,  to  save  a 
trader 's  money,  I  am  to  be  left  alone. ' ' 

"Mother,  it  seems  hard  for  you  to  understand 
these  people ;  and  there  is  another  side  to  it.  I  have 
been  treated  with  kindness  for  which  there  seems  to 
me  small  reason.  Twice  my  wages  have  been  raised, 
and  this  offer  is  a  compliment,  as  well  as  a  chance  to 
oblige  a  man  I  like. ' ' 

"Wages!"  she  cried.  "Do  not  imagine  me  de 
ceived  by  these  good-natured  bourgeois,  nor  by  your 
desire  to  spare  me.  Secretary,  indeed!  Do  they 
fancy  me  a  fool  1  You  are  a  clerk. ' ' 

"I  am,"  he  said;  "but  that  is  not  now  of  impor 
tance.  He  has  said  that  he  must  go  or  I  must  go." 

"Then  let  him  go.  You  must  not  disobey  me, 
Rene." 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "these  people  have,  God  knows 
why,  found  us  a  home,  and  covered  us  with  obliga 
tions  never  possible  to  be  repaid.  Here  at  last  comes 
a  chance— and  you  know  our  old  French  saying." 


THE  EED  CITY  127 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  But  any  clerk  could  go.  It  is 
—oh,  my  son!— that  I  should  miss  you  day  and 
night." 

"Any  clerk  could  not  go,  maman.  It  asks  this 
thing— a  man  not  afraid.  No  timid  clerk  can  go. 
Do  not  you  see,  maman?" 

"He  will  think  you  afraid  if  you  stay?" 

' '  Oh,  mother,  do  understand  this  man  better !  He 
is  a  gentleman— of— of  as  good  a  race  as  ours,  a  sol 
dier  of  distinction  in  the  war.  He  will  not  think  me 
afraid ;  but  others  may. ' ' 

1 '  Is  there  danger,  my  son  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  To  be  honest,  very  great  danger.  The 
blacks  are  free.  The  lower  whites  rule  the  seaports. 
It  is  to  be  more  terrible  than  the  riot  of  murder  at 
home. ' ' 

He  had  remained  standing  while  he  talked.  For 
half  a  minute  the  dark  figure  and  unchanging  face 
bent  over  the  embroidery-frame  without  a  word  of 
reply.  Then  rising,  she  set  a  hand  on  each  of  his 
shoulders  and  said,  "You  must  go,  Rene."  Centur 
ies  of  the  training  and  creed  of  a  race  of  warlike  men 
could  not  have  failed  to  defeat  love-born  anxiety, 
and  the  dread  of  loss,  in  a  woman  through  whom  had 
passed  into  the  making  of  a  man  certain  ancestral 
qualities.  "You  must  go,"  she  repeated. 

"Thank  you,  mother.    I  was  afraid—" 

"Of  what?"  she  cried.  "That  I  should  be  afraid 
for  a  man  of  my  blood  to  risk  life  where  duty  calls 
him?" 

"No,  mother;  I  was  afraid  that  you  might  not  see 
it  all  as  I  do." 


128  THE  RED  CITY 

"If,  Rene,  this  were  but  a  peaceful  errand  of 
months  away,  I  should  have  said  no.  The  debts,  all 
—all  might  have  stood.  I  should  have  been  ashamed, 
but  obstinate,  my  son.  We  will  not  discuss  it.  You 
must  go.  And  is  it  for  long?"  The  clear,  sweet 
voice  broke  a  little.  "Is  it  for  very  long?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Ah.  well.  I  do  not  want  to  see  you  in  the  morn 
ing.  When  you  are  ready  to-night,  you  will  say 
good-by." 

"Yes,  mother.  And  now  I  must  pack  my  bag." 
And  he  left  her. 

That  was  strange,  he  thought.  What  would  have 
made  some  women  say  no  decided  her  to  say  go.  He 
smiled  proudly.  "It  was  like  her,"  he  murmured. 

When  at  eight  that  night  he  came  to  say  good-by, 
she  kissed  him  and  said  only,  * '  Write  to  me  when  you 
can. ' '  At  nine  Hugh  Wynne  had  the  answer  he  con 
fidently  expected. 

At  dusk  of  day,  the  old  black  Cicero  tramped  after 
De  Courval  through  the  snow,  as  full  of  thought  he 
went  on,  his  camlet  cloak  about  him,  and  under  it  the 
sword  he  had  left  in  the  Quaker's  attic.  He  had  told 
Mrs.  Swanwick  and  left  a  letter  for  Schmidt,  taking, 
after  some  hesitation,  fifty  dollars  out  of  the  drawer. 

At  daybreak,  on  the  slip,  Mr.  Wynne  waited  with 
the  captain.  "Here,"  said  the  merchant,  "are  your 
instructions.  Use  your  good  sense.  You  have  it. 
Have  no  fear  of  assuming  responsibility.  Captain 
Biddle,  in  case  of  doubt,  trust  Mr.  Lewis  to  decide 
any  question  involving  money." 
"Oh,  that  is  his  name— Lewis." 


THE  EED  CITY  129 

"Yes;  Mr.  Lewis  will  show  you  my  instructions." 
Then  taking  De  Courval  aside,  "You  said  no  word 
of  pay." 

"No,  sir." 

"Very  good.  Some  men  would  have  bargained.  I 
shall  see  that  your  salary  while  absent,  eighty  dollars 
a  month,  is  put  in  Mary  Swanwiek's  hands  for  your 
mother. ' ' 

' '  Thank  you.    That  leaves  me  at  ease.  ' ' 

"Ah,  here  is  some  of  my  own  Maryland  tobacco 
and  a  pipe  the  Germans  call  meerschaum;  and  one 
word  more:  you  have  infinitely  obliged  me  and  my 
wife.  God  bless  you !  Good-by !  Bon  voyage !  Your 
boat  is  ready,  and  Captain  Biddle  is  impatient  to  be 
gone." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Marie,  wing-and-wing,  was 
flying  down  the  Delaware  with  the  first  of  the  ebb, 
the  skim  of  ice  crackling  at  her  bow  and  a  fair  wind 
after  her.  They  were  like  enough  to  carry  the  ebb 
tide  with  them  to  the  capes  or  even  to  outsail  it. 

De  Courval  stood  on  the  quarter-deck,  in  the  clear, 
sharp  wintry  air,  while  the  sun  rose  over  Jersey  and 
deepened  the  prevalent  reds  which  had  so  struck  his 
mother  when  in  May,  nine  months  before,  they  first 
saw  the  city.  Now  he  recalled  his  sad  memories  of 
France,  their  unhappy  poverty  in  England  until 
their  old  notary  in  Paris  contrived  to  send  them  the 
few  thousand  livres  with  which  they  had  come  to 
Pennsylvania  with  the  hopes  which  so  often  deceived 
the  emigrant,  and  then  God  had  found  for  them 
friends.  He  saw  as  he  thought  of  them,  the  German, 
vho  held  to  him  some  relation  of  affectionate  near- 


130  THE  BED  CITY 

ness  which  was  more  than  friendship  and  seemed  like 
such  as  comes,  though  rarely,  when  the  ties  of  blood 
are  drawn  closer  by  respect,  service,  and  love.  He 
had  ceased  to  think  of  the  mystery  which  puzzled 
many  and  of  which  Hamilton  and  Mr.  Justice  Wil 
son  were  believed  to  know  more  than  any  others. 
Being  of  the  religion,  he  had  said  to  Schmidt  in  a 
quiet,  natural  way  that  their  coming  together  was 
providential,  and  the  German  had  said :  '  *  Why  not  ? 
It  was  provided."  Then  he  saw  Gainor  Wynne,  so 
sturdy  and  full  of  insistent  kindness ;  the  strong,  de 
cisive  nephew ;  the  Quaker  homes ;  all  these  amazing 
people;  and,  somehow  with  a  distinctness  no  other 
figure  had,  the  Pearl  in  the  sunlight  of  an  August 
evening. 

The  name  Margaret  fits  well— ah— yes.  To  sing 
to  her  the  old  French  verse— there  in  the  garden 
above  the  river— well,  that  would  be  pleasant— and 
to  hear  how  it  would  sound  he  must  try  it,  being  in 
a  happy  mood. 

The  captain  turned  to  listen,  for  first  he  whistled 
the  air  and  then  sang : 

LE  BLASON  DE  LA  MARGUERITE 

En  Avril  oil  naquit  amour, 
J'entrai  dans  son  jardin  un  jour, 
Ou  la  beaute  d'une  fleurette 
Me  plut  sur  celles  que  j'y  vis. 
Ce  ne  fut  pas  la  paquerette, 
L'oeillet,  la  rose,  ni  le  lys : 
Ce  fut  la  belle  Marguerite, 
Qu'au  coeur  j'aurai  toujours  ecrite. 


THE  BED  CITY  131 

He  laughed.  That  would  hardly  do— "au  coeur 
ecrite";  but  then,  it  is  only  a  song. 

"Well  sung,"  said  the  captain,  not  ignorant  of 
French.  ' '  Do  you  sing  that  to  the  lady  who  is  writ 
ten  in  your  heart  ? ' ' 

"Always,"  laughed  De  Courval— "always." 


IX 


IT  is  well  for  us  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  some  of 
those  who  were  in  De  Courval's  mind  as  the 
Marie  lost  sight  of  the  steeple  of  Christ  Church. 

Mrs.  Swanwick,  born  in  the  creed  and  customs  of 
the  Church  of  England,  was  by  many  ties  of  kindred 
allied  to  the  Masters,  Willings,  Morrises,  and  to  that 
good  Whig  rector,  the  Rev.  Richard  Peters.  She  had 
conformed  with  some  doubts  to  the  creed  of  John 
Swanwick,  her  dead  husband,  but  was  of  no  mind  to 
separate  her  daughter  altogether  from  the  gay  cou 
sins  whose  ways  her  simpler  tastes  in  no  wise  al 
ways  approved. 

It  was  also  black  Nanny's  opinion  that  the  girl 
should  see  the  gayer  world,  and  she  expressed  her 
self  on  this  matter  to  her  mistress  with  the  freedom 
of  an  old  servant.  She  could  neither  read  nor  even 
tell  the  time,  and  never  left  the  house  or  garden,  ex 
cept  for  church  or  the  funeral  of  some  relative.  Just 
now,  a  week  after  the  vicomte  had  gone,  she  was  busy 
in  the  kitchen  when  Mrs.  Swanwick  came  in. 

' '  Were  there  many  at  thy  cousin 's  burial  ? ' '  asked 
the  mistress. 

"Yes,  there  was;  but  this  goin'  out  don't  agree 
with  me.  I  ain't  young  enough  to  enjoy  it."  Then 
she  said  abruptly :  ' '  Miss  Margaret  she  's  pinin '  like. 
She  ain't  no  Quaker— no  more  than  me." 

182 


THE  KED  CITY  133 

Mrs.  Swanwick  smiled,  and  Nanny  went  on  peel 
ing  potatoes. 

"I  don't  go  with  Friends— I  'm  church  people, 
and  I  likes  the  real  quality. " 

''Yes,  I  know,  Nanny."  She  had  heard  all  this 
many  times. 

"I  heard  the  Governor  askin'  you—" 

''Yes,  yes.    I  think  she  may  go,  Nanny." 

"She  '11  go,  and  some  time  she  '11  stay,"  said 
Nanny. 

' '  Indeed  ?    Well— I  shall  see, ' '  said  the  mistress. 

"Potatoes  ain't  what  they  used  to  be,  and  neither 
is  folks." 

Now  and  then,  with  more  doubt  as  Margaret  grew 
and  matured,  her  mother  permitted  her  to  stay  for  a 
day  at  Belmont,  or  at  Cliveden  with  the  Chews,  but 
more  readily  with  Darthea  Wynne.  Just  now  an 
occasional  visitor,  Mr.  John  Penn,  the  Proprietary, 
had  come  with  his  wife  to  ask  the  girl  to  dine  at 
Landsdowne.  It  would  be  a  quiet  party.  She  could 
come  with  Mr.  Schmidt,  who,  like  Nanny,  seeing  the 
girl  of  late  somewhat  less  gay  than  usual  and  indis 
posed  to  the  young  Quaker  kinsfolk,  with  whom  she 
had  little  in  common,  urged  the  mother  to  consent. 
She  yielded  reluctantly.  "Ann,"  said  the  gentle 
man  in  the  ruby-colored  coat,  "would  take  care  of 
her. ' '  This  Ann,  the  daughter  of  the  Chief  Justice 
Allen,  was  a  friend  of  Mary  Swanwick 's  youth. 
There  was  advice  given,  and  some  warnings,  which 
the  pleased  girl,  it  is  to  be  feared,  thought  little  of 
as,  wrapped  in  furs,  Schmidt  drove  her  in  his  sleigh 
over  the  float  bridge  at  the  middle  ferry,  and  at  last 


134  THE  BED  CITY 

along  the  Monument  Road  from  the  Lancaster  Pike 
to  the  front  of  the  Italian  villa  John  Penn  built 
where  now  in  the  park  stands  the  Horticultural 
Hall. 

The  sky  was  clear,  the  sun  brilliant.  There  were 
far-away  glimpses  of  the  river,  and  on  the  terrace 
to  meet  them,  at  three  o'clock,  a  group  of  gay  young 
cousins,  who  came  out  with  Mrs.  Byrd  of  Westover, 
the  hostess,  Ann  Penn,  very  splendid  in  gown  and 
powder,  with  Mr.  Peters,  their  neighbor,  of  late  made 
a  judge,  and  the  Governor  in  purple  velvet  short- 
clothes  and  gold  buckles.  He  put  out  in  welcome  a 
lace-ruffled  hand,  of  which  he  was  said  to  be  proud. 
A  hood,  and  over  it  a  calash  for  shelter  from  cold, 
had  replaced  the  girl's  Quaker  bonnet,  and  now  it 
was  cast  back,  and  the  frost-red  cheeks  were  kissed, 
and  the  profuse  compliments  of  the  day  paid  to  the 
really  charming  face  of  Margaret,  whom  nature  had 
set  off  with  color  and  whom  stern  decrees  of  usage 
had  clad  for  contrast  in  relieving  gray  silks. 

There  was  whispering  among  those  madcap  cousins 
as  they  hurried  her  away  to  Ann  Greenleaf 's  room, 
a  niece  of  Mrs.  Penn,  "to  set  thy  hair  in  order  for 
dinner,  thou  darling  Quaker."  She  was  used  to 
their  ways,  and  went  merry  with  the  rest  up  the 
great  stairway  whence  William  Penn,  in  the  serene 
beauty  of  his  youth,  looked  down  at  the  noisy  party, 
now  bent  upon  a  prank  altogether  in  the  fashion  of 
their  day. 

As  Margaret  entered  the  room,  she  saw  Miss  Ann 
Greenleaf  being  trussed  up  in  stays  by  a  black  maid. 

"Why,  dear,  is  the  room  so  dark?"  asked  Mar- 


THE  EED  CITY  135 

garet;  for  the  curtains  were  drawn,  and  there  were 
candles  on  the  mantel  and  in  sconces. 

"The  better  to  see  how  we  shall  look-in  the  eve 
ning,  ' '  replied  Miss  Willing. 

Gowns,  silken  hose,  high,  red-heeled  shoes,  and 
powder-puffs  lay  about  on  bed  and  chairs. 

"We  have  a  little  secret,"  cried  Miss  Willing, 
' '  and  we  will  never  tell,  dear. ' ' 

* '  Never ! ' '  cried  they. 

"We  want  to  dress  thee  just  for  to  see  how  thou 
wouldst  look  in  the  gown  of  decent  Christians. ' ' 

"I  could  never  think  of  it." 

"Come,  girls,"  cried  Miss  Willing,  "let  us  dress 
her  just  once. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  just  for  a  half-hour,"  they  said,  and 
gathered  around  her,  laughing,  urgent. 

Nice  Christians  these!  She  would  not.  Mother 
would  not  like  it,  and— ah,  me,  she  was  not  unwill 
ing  to  see  herself  once  in  the  long  cheval-glass.  She 
had  had  naughty  dreams  of  brocade  and  powder. 
Despite  her  resistance,  they  had  off  the  prim  Quaker 
dress,  and  blushing,  half -angry,  half -pleased,  she  was 
in  slim  attire,  saying:  "Thou  really  must  not.  My 
stockings,  oh,  not  my  stockings!  Oh,  Molly  Green- 
leaf,  how  can  I?  It  is  dreadful— please  not."  But 
the  silk  stockings  were  on,  and  the  garters,  with  com 
pliments  my  modest  pen  declines  to  preserve.  There 
was  enough  of  the  maiden  neck  in  view  above  the 
undervest,  and  very  splendid  length  of  brocade 
gown,  with  lace  of  the  best,  and  a  petticoat,  pearl- 
tinted,  "Because,  dear,  we  are  all  Quakers,"  they 
cried.  "And  do  keep  still,  or  the  powder  will  be  all 


136  THE  EED  CITY 

over  thee.  What  color,  girls!  Can  it  be  real?  I 
must  kiss  thee  to  see  if  it  be  rouge. ' ' 

"For  shame!"  cried  Margaret,  between  tears  and 
laughter. 

"Now  a  fan— and  patches,  Molly  Greenleaf !  No. 
The  old  women  wear  them;  but  gloves,  crumpled 
down  at  the  elbow.  So ! "  She  had  given  up  at  last. 

It  was  only  for  a  frolic  half-hour.  "Go  now  and 
see  thyself."  Two  of  the  merriest  seized  lighted 
candles,  for  the  room  was  made  dark  by  the  drawn 
curtains,  and  stood  on  each  side  of  the  long  cheval- 
glass,  a  pretty  picture,  with  Margaret  before  the 
mirror,  shy  and  blushing.  * '  Great  heavens !  you  are 
a  wonder!  Is  n't  she,  oh,  is  n't  she,  the  sweetest 
thing!" 

The  Quaker  maiden  looked  down  at  the  rich  bro 
cade  and  then  looked  up,  and  knew  that  she  was 
beautiful.  She  stood  still,  amazed  at  the  revela 
tion,  and  the  gods  who  give  us  uncalled-for  thoughts 
set  in  her  mind  for  a  moment  the  figure  of  the  young 
vicomte.  She  colored,  and  cried,  laughing,  as  she 
turned  away  from  the  glass :  * '  You  have  had  your 
way  with  me,  and  now— undress  me,  girls,  please.  I 
should  scarce  know  how. ' ' 

"Oh,  the  sweet,  innocent  thing!"  cried  they. 
"But  wait  a  little.  Now  thy  hair— so— and  so,  and 
a  bit  more  powder.  La,  but  you  are  dangerous! 
Where  are  thy  Quaker  gown  and  stockings  ?  Where 
can  they  be!  Molly  Greenleaf,  what  have  you  done 
with  them?  And,  oh,  Cinderella,  the  slippers  fit  to 
a  charm."  No  one  knew  where  had  gone  the  gown, 
the  shoes,  the  shawl,  the  rest  of  the  simple  garb. 


THE  EED  CltY  137 

"The  fairy  godmother  has  done  it,"  cried  Miss  Cad- 
walader.  "What  shall  we  do?"  cried  Betty  Morris. 
The  gong,  a  new  fashion,  rang  for  dinner.  The  girl 
was  angry. 

"This  passes  the  limit  of  a  jest,"  she  cried.  ''Go 
down?  I?  No.  I  will  die  first."  They  implored, 
laughing;  but  she  refused,  saying,  "I  sit  here  till  I 
have  my  gown, ' '  and  would  speak  no  more. 

At  this  minute  came  Mrs.  Penn.  "What  is  all  this 
noise,  young  women  ?  Good  Lord !  Margaret  Swan- 
wick  !  So  this  is  what  these  minxes  have  been  at  all 
the  morning  ? ' ' 

"I  have  been  tricked,"  said  Margaret,  "and— and 
I  will  never  forgive  them— never. ' ' 

"But  come  down  to  dinner,  my  dear.  You  will 
have  your  revenge  when  the  men  see  you.  There, 
the  Governor  dislikes  to  wait.  He  has  sent  up  to  say 
dinner  is  ready. J ' 

"I  want  my  gown,"  said  the  Pearl,  "and  I  will 
not  go  down. ' '  Only  anger  kept  her  from  tears. 

"But  the  Governor  must  see  you.  Come,  no  one 
will  know,  and,  bless  me !  but  you  are  a  beauty ! ' ' 

"Is  n't  she?"  they  cried  in  chorus.  A  glance  at 
the  mirror  and  a  triumphant  sense  of  victorious 
capacities  to  charm  swept  over  the  hesitating  girl. 
Life  of  late  had  been  as  gray  as  her  garb. 

"Come,  dear.  You  really  must.  You  are  making 
too  much,  quite  too  much,  of  a  bit  of  innocent  fun. 
If  you  wait  to  dress,  I  shall  have  to  explain  it  all,  and 
the  Governor  will  say  you  lack  courage;  and  must 
I  say  I  left  you  in  tears  ?  And  the  mutton,  my  dear 
child— think  of  the  mutton!" 


138  THE  BED  CITY 

"I  am  not  in  tears,  and  I  hate  you  all,  every  one 
of  you ;  but  I  will  go. ' ' 

Her  head  was  up,  as  fan  in  hand  she  went  down  in 
front  of  the  cousins,  now  mildly  penitent,  Mrs.  Penn 
at  her  side.  ' '  Did  they  think  to  show  off  an  awkward 
Quaker  cousin,  these  thoughtless  kittens?  Give  them 
a  lesson,  my  dear. ' ' 

' '  I  mean  to, ' '  said  Margaret,  her  eyes  flashing. 

The  men  were  about  the  fire  in  the  great  drawing- 
room,  one  little  girl  just  slipping  out,  the  future  wife 
of  Henry  Baring.  The  party  was  large — young  Mr. 
Rawle  and  General  Wayne  and  the  Peters  from  Bel- 
mont  near  by. 

The  men  turned  to  bow  as  Mrs.  Penn  stepped 
aside,  and  left  to  view  a  startling  vision  of  innocence 
and  youth  and  loveliness.  The  girl  swept  a  curtsey, 
the  practice  when  dreams  of  the  world  were  teasing 
her  had  not  been  in  vain.  Then  she  rose  and  moved 
into  the  room.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Ex 
cept  Schmidt,  no  one  knew  her.  The  Governor,  bow 
ing,  cried, ' '  By  George !  Margaret,  you  beat  them  all ! 
What  fairies  have  metamorphosed  you  ? ' ' 

"We,  we,"  cried  the  chorus.  The  men  paid  her 
compliments  after  the  downright  fashion  of  their  set. 
She  was  gay,  quick  to  reply,  amazingly  at  ease. 
Schmidt  watched  her,  comprehending  as  no  one  else 
did  the  sudden  revelation  to  the  young  woman  of  the 
power  and  charm  of  her  beauty  and  the  primal  joy 
of  unused  weapons.  To  the  younger  men  she  was  a 
little  reserved  and  quiet,  to  the  elder  men  all  grace 
and  sweetness,  to  the  trickster  cousins,  disconcert 
ingly  cool. 


THE  BED  CITY  139 

11  Where  on  earth  did  she  learn  it  all?"  said  Mrs. 
Byrd,  as  she  went  out  to  dinner  with  Mr.  Penn. 

' '  Heaven  knows.  But  it  was  a  saucy  trick  and  she 
will  pay  for  it,  I  fear,  at  home. ' ' 

"Will  she  tell?"  said  Morris,  the  master  of  the 
rolls,  as  he  followed  behind  them  with  Mrs.  Wayne. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Byrd,  "she  will  tell;  but 
whether  or  not,  the  town  will  ring  with  it,  in  a  day  or 
two.  A  pity,  too,  for  the  child  is  brought  up  in  the 
straightest  way  of  Friends.  None  of  Madame  Lo 
gan's  fine  gowns  and  half-way  naughtiness  for 
her." 

At  dinner  Margaret  quietly  amused  Mr.  Morris 
with  Schmidt's  terror  of  June,  the  cat,  and  with  Mr. 
Jefferson's  bout  with  Hamilton,  and  the  tale  of  the 
sad  lapse  of  De  Forest,  which  greatly  pleased  General 
Wayne,  her  right-hand  neighbor.  WThen  they  left  the 
men  to  their  Madeira,  she  insisted  on  changing  her 
dress.  A  not  duly  penitent  bevy  of  maids  assisted, 
and  by  and  by  it  was  a  demure  Quaker  moth  who  re 
placed  the  gay  butterfly  and  in  the  drawing-room 
helped  Madame  Penn  to  make  tea.  They  paid  her 
fair  compliments,  and  she  smiled,  saying:  "I,  dear 
Mrs.  Penn— was  I  here?  Thou  must  be  mistaken. 
That  was  Grandmama  Plumstead  thou  didst  have 
here.  Oh,  a  hundred  years  ago. ' ' 

"Ask  her  to  come  again,"  said  Mrs.  Penn. 

"And  to  stay,"  said  Mrs.  Wayne;  "a  charming 
creature. ' ' 

"The  maid  is  clever,"  said  Mrs.  Masters. 

Meanwhile  the  wine  went  round  on  the  coasters 
over  the  mahogany  table  in  the  dining-room,  and 


140  THE  EED  CITY 

men  talked  of  France,  and  grew  hot  with  wine  and 
more  politics  than  pleased  their  host,  who  had  no 
definite  opinions,  or,  if  any,  a  sincere  doubt  as  to 
the  quality  of  a  too  aged  Madeira. 

He  gave  a  toast:  "The  ladies  and  our  Quaker 
Venus."  They  drank  it  standing. 

"This  wine  needs  fining,"  said  his  reverence,  the 
rector  of  Christ  Church.  They  discussed  it  seri 
ously. 

Mr.  Rawle  cried,  "A  toast:  George  Washington 
and  the  Federal  party." 

"No  politics,  gentlemen,"  said  Penn;  "but  I  will 
drink  the  first  half  of  it— His  Excellency." 

MR.  LANGSTROTH  on  this  day  rode  to  town,  and  there 
learned  that  Margaret  was  at  Landsdowne,  and  also  a 
surprising  piece  of  news  with  which  he  did  not  regale 
Mary  Swanwick. 

Full  of  what  he  had  heard,  Mr.  Langstroth,  being 
now  on  horseback  and  on  his  way  to  Gray  Pines,  his 
home,  was  suddenly  minded  to  see  his  great-niece. 
Therefore  he  rode  up  the  avenue  at  Landsdowne,  and 
hitching  his  horse,  learned  that  the  men  were  still 
over  their  wine.  "I  will  go  in,"  he  said,  well 
pleased. 

"Ah,"  said  Penn,  rising,  "you  are  just  in  time  for 
the  punch. ' '  He  hated  the  man  and  all  his  positive 
ways,  but,  the  more  for  that,  was  courteous,  if  rather 
formal.  "A  glass  for  Mr.  Langstroth.  Your  health, 
sir ;  your  very  good  health. ' ' 

"  It  is  not  good, ' '  said  the  new-comer 

' '  But  the  wine  I  trust  is, ' '  said  the  Governor. 


THE  BED  CITY  141 

"It  might  supply  goodness,"  Langstroth  replied, 
4 '  if  it  were  not  a  bit  pricked. ' '  It  was  a  tender  sub 
ject,  and  his  host,  feeling  grossly  wronged,  was  silent. 

' '  Any  fresh  news  ? ' '  said  the  attorney-general. 

' '  Yes,  sir ;  yes.  The  Princeton  College  lottery  was 
drawn  this  morning,  and  guess  who  drew  a  prize  ? ' ' 

"Not  I'1— "Nor  I,"  they  cried.  "Who  was  it? 
Not  you?" 

"I!    No  such  luck." 

' 'Who,  then?" 

"Well,  I  bought  ten  chances  in  the  fall,  and  one 
for  my  great-niece,  Margaret  Swanwick.  Her  mother 
did  not  like  it.  Friends  are  all  for  putting  an  end  to 
lotteries. ' ' 

"And  she  won?" 

' '  She  did.  I  chose  for  luck  the  number  of  her  age 
and  the  last  two  figures  of  the  year— 1792.  That 
took  it." 

"How  much?  How  much?"  they  shouted,  the 
wine  and  rum  punch  having  done  their  work.  ' '  How 
much?" 

"Eight  thousand,  nine  hundred,  and  thirty-four 
dollars,  as  I  'ma  sinner. ' ' 

' '  The  girl  may  have  gay  gowns  now, ' '  cried  one. 

"Let  us  go  out,  and  tell  her,"  said  the  Governor, 
as  men  still  called  him ;  and  upon  this,  having  had 
wine  and  rum  more  than  was  well,  they  went  laugh 
ing  into  the  drawing-room. 

1 '  Oh,  news !  news ! ' '  cried  one  and  another. 

Mrs.  Penn  looked  annoyed.  "What  is  it?"  she 
asked. 

"Ho,  ho!    Fine  news!"  said  Langstroth.  "Mar- 


142  THE  EED  CITY 

garet  has  the  great  prize  in  the  Princeton  lottery— 
eight  thousand  and  more.  It  was  drawn  this  morn 
ing." 

' '  What  luck ! ' '  cried  the  ladies.  ' '  And  you  are  not 
jesting?" 

' '  No.  It  is  true.  I  bought  it  for  her, ' '  roared  Lang- 
stroth,  triumphant.  "Think  of  that,  Margaret— eight 
thousand  and — " 

"For  me— mine!"  said  the  girl,  rising  as  she 
spoke.  "Don't  speak  to  me,  Cousin  Penn.  I  have 
had  too  much  to-day.  I  am  troubled.  I  must  go." 
No,  she  did  not  want  to  discuss  it.  She  must  go 
home.  "May  I  not  go,  Friend  Schmidt?  If  this  is  a 
joke,  uncle,  it  is  not  to  my  taste.  I  must  go." 

"Certainly.    The  sleigh  is  at  the  door." 

Langstroth  was  angry.  He  had  had  no  thanks, 
not  a  word.  There  was  some  embarrassment,  but 
the  women  must  need  felicitate  the  unwilling  winner. 
She  made  short  answers. 

"The  puss  has  her  claws  out,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Byrd,  as  she  heard  in  reply  to  her  congratulations: 
"I  think  it  is  a  misfortune— a— a— what  will  my 
mother  say?  I  must  go."  She  was  a  child  again. 
Mrs.  Penn,  understanding  the  girl,  went  out  with 
her,  saying  kind  things,  and  helping  her  to  put  on 
her  over-wrap. 

"Damn  the  fool!"  said  her  uncle,  who  had  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  hall,  and  to  whom  she  would  not 
speak. 

The  gentlemen  were  silent,  not  knowing  how  to 
sympathize  with  a  misfortune  so  peculiar.  Schmidt, 
tranquil  and  undisturbed,  made  the  usual  formal 


THE  BED  CITY  143 

adieus  and  followed  her  out  of  the  room.  He  tucked 
in  the  furs  with  kindly  care,  and  through  the  early 
evening  dusk  they  drove  away  across  the  snow,  the 
girl  silent,  the  man  respectful  of  her  mood. 


10 


IT  was  after  dark  when  Schmidt  left  Margaret  at 
her  home.  As  he  was  about  to  drive  away  to  the 
stable,  he  said,  "  Those  are  wild  girls,  but,  my  dear 
child,  you  were  so  very  pretty,  I  for  one  almost  for 
gave  them. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  was  I  ? ' '  she  cried,  shyly  pleased  and  a  little 
comforted.  "But  the  lottery  prize;  I  shall  hear 
about  that,  and  so  will  my  mother,  too.  I  never  gave 
it  a  thought  when  uncle  spoke  of  it  long  ago. ' ' 

"It  is  a  small  matter,  Pearl.  We  will  talk  about 
it  later.  Now  go  in  and  quit  thinking  of  it.  It  is 
shrewd  weather,  and  nipping." 

Margaret  knew  very  well  that  she  had  good  cause 
to  be  uneasy.  Friends  had  been  of  late  much  exer 
cised  over  the  evil  of  lotteries,  and  half  of  Lang- 
stroth's  satisfaction  in  this  form  of  gambling  was 
due  to  his  love  of  opposition  and  his  desire  to  annoy 
the  society  of  which  he  still  called  himself  a  member. 
Although,  to  his  anger,  he  had  .long  ago  been  dis 
owned,  he  still  went  to  meeting  once  or  twice  a  year. 
He  had  had  no  such  sacrificial  conscience  in  the  war 
as  made  Clement  Biddle  and  Wetherill  "apostates," 
as  Friends  called  them.  He  was  by  birthright  a 
member  of  the  society,  and  stood  for  King  George, 
and  would  pay  no  war  tax.  But  when  the  vendue- 


THE  EED  CITY  145 

master  took  his  old  plate  and  chairs,  he  went  pri 
vately  and  bought  them  back;  and  so,  having  thus 
paid  for  the  joy  of  apparent  opposition,  drank  to  the 
king  in  private,  and  made  himself  merry  over  the 
men  who  sturdily  accepting  loss  for  conscience's 
sake,  sat  at  meals  on  their  kitchen  chairs,  silently  un- 
resistant,  but,  if  human,  a  little  sorrowful  concern 
ing  the  silver  which  came  over  with  Penn  and  was 
their  only  material  reminder  of  the  Welsh  homes 
their  fathers  had  left  that  they  might  worship  God 
in  their  own  simple  way. 

The  one  person  Langstroth  loved  was  his  great- 
niece,  of  whose  attachment  to  the  German  he  was 
jealous  with  that  keen  jealousy  known  to  those  who 
are  capable  of  but  one  single  love.  He  had  meant  to 
annoy  her  mother;  and,  with  no  least  idea  that  he 
would  win  a  prize  for  her  child,  was  now  vexed  at 
Margaret's  want  of  gratitude,  and  well  pleased  with 
the  fuss  there  would  be  when  the  news  got  out  and 
Friends  came  to  hear  of  it. 

When  Pearl  threw  herself  into  the  mother's  arms 
and  broke  into  tears,  sobbing  out  the  double  story, 
for  a  moment  Mrs.  Swanwick  was  silent. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  at  last,  "why  didst  thou  let 
them  dress  thee?" 

"I— I  could  not  help  it,  and— and— I  liked  it, 
mother.  Thou  didst  like  it  once, ' '  she  added,  with  a 
look  of  piteous  appeal.  "Don't  scold  me,  mother. 
Thou  must  have  liked  it  once. ' ' 

"I,  dear?  Yes,  I  liked  it.  But— scold  thee?  Do 
I  ever  scold  thee  ?  'T  is  but  a  small  matter.  It  will 
be  the  talk  of  a  week,  and  Gainor  Wynne  will  laugh. 


146  THE  EED  CITY 

and  soon  it  will  be  forgotten.  The  lottery  is  more 
serious. ' ' 

1  'But  I  did  not  doit. " 

"No." 

"They  will  blame  thee,  mother,  I  know— when  it 
was  all  my  uncle 's  doing.  Let  them  talk  to  him. ' ' 

The  widow  smiled.  "Nothing  would  please  him 
better ;  but— they  have  long  since  given  up  Josiah  for 
a  lost  sheep—" 

' '  Black,  mother  ? ' '  She  was  a  trifle  relieved  at  the 
thought  of  an  interview  between  Friend  Howell,  the 
gentlest  of  the  gentle,  and  Josiah. 

"Brown,  not  black,"  said  the  mother,  smiling. 
"It  will  someway  get  settled,  my  child.  Now  go 
early  to  bed  and  leave  it  to  thy  elders.  I  shall  talk 
of  it  to  Friend  Schmidt." 

"Yes,  mother."  Her  confidence  in  the  German 
gentleman,  now  for  five  years  their  guest,  was  bound- 


"And  say  thy  prayers  with  a  quiet  heart.  Thou 
hast  done  no  wrong.  Good  night,  my  child.  Ask  if 
Friend  de  Courval  wants  anything.  Since  her  son 
went  away,  she  has  been  troubled,  as  who  would  not 
be.  Another's  real  cause  for  distress  should  make 
us  feel  how  small  a  matter  is  this  of  ours."  She 
kissed  her  again,  and  the  girl  went  slowly  up-stairs, 
murmuring:  "He  went  away  and  never  so  much  as 
said  good-by  to  me.  I  do  not  think  it  was  civil. ' ' 

Meanwhile  the  mother  sat  still,  with  only  the  click, 
click  of  the  knitting-needles,  which  somehow  seemed 
always  to  assist  her  to  think.  She  had  steadily  re 
fused  help  in  money  from  Uncle  Josiah,  and  now, 


THE  RED  CITY  147 

being  as  angry  as  was  within  the  possibilities  of  a 
temper  radiant  with  the  sunshine  of  good  humor,  she 
rejoiced  that  she  owed  Josiah  nothing. 

"He  shall  have  a  piece  of  my  mind,"  she  said 
aloud,  and  indeed  a  large  slice  would  have  been  a 
sweetening  addition  to  his  crabbed  sourness.  "Ah, 
me ! "  she  added,  ' '  I  must  not  think  of  the  money ; 
but  how  easy  it  would  make  things!"  Not  even 
Schmidt  had  been  permitted  to  pay  more  than  a 
reasonable  board.  No,  she  would  not  repine;  and 
now  madame,  reluctantly  accepting  her  son's  in 
creased  wages,  had  insisted  that  his  room  be  kept 
vacant  and  paid  for,  and  was  not  to  be  gainsaid 
about  the  needed  fur-lined  roquelaure  she  bought  for 
her  hostess  and  the  extra  pay  for  small  luxuries. 

' '  May  God  forgive  me  that  I  have  been  unthankful 
for  His  goodness, ' '  said  Mary  Swanwick,  and  so  say 
ing  she  rose  and  putting  aside  her  thoughts  with  her 
knitting,  sat  down  to  read  a  little  in  the  book  she  had 
taken  from  the  library,  to  Friend  Poulson's  dismay. 
' '  Thou  wilt  not  like  it,  Mary  Swanwick. "  In  a  min 
ute  of  mischief  young  Mr.  Willing  had  told  her  of  a 
book  he  had  lately  read — a  French  book,  amusing 
and  witty.  He  had  left  her  wishing  he  could  see  her 
when  she  read  it,  but  self -advised  to  stay  away  for  a 
time. 

She  sat  down  with  anticipative  satisfaction. 
"What  hard  French!"  she  thought.  "I  must  ask 
help  of  madame,"  as  she  often  called  her,  Friend 
Courval  being,  as  she  saw  plainly,  too  familiar  to  her 
guest.  As  she  read,  smiling  at  the  immortal  wit  and 
humor  of  a  day  long  passed,  suddenly  she  shut  the 


148  THE  EED  CITY 

book  with  a  quick  movement,  and  set  it  aside. 
"What  manner  of  man  was  this  Rabelais  1  Friend 
Poulson  should  have  been  more  plain  with  me ;  and 
as  for  Master  Willing,  I  shall  write  to  him,  too,  a 
bit  of  my  mind. ' '  But  she  never  did,  and  only  said 
aloud :  ' '  If  I  give  away  any  more  pieces  of  my  mind, 
I  shall  have  none  left, ' '  and  turned,  as  her  diary  re 
cords,  to  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  of  which  she 
remarked,  "an  old  book  by  one  John  Bunyan,  much 
read  by  Friends  and  generally  approved,  ridiculed 
by  many,  but  not  by  me.  It  seems  to  me  good,  pious 
wit,  and  not  obscene  like  the  other.  I  fear  I  sin 
sometimes  in  being  too  curious  about  books. ' '  Thus 
having  put  on  paper  her  reflections,  she  went  to 
bed,  having  in  mind  a  vague  and  naughty  desire  to 
have  seen  Margaret  in  the  foolish  garb  of  worldly 
folk. 

Margaret,  ashamed,  would  go  nowhere  for  a  week, 
and  did  more  than  the  needed  housework,  to  Nanny 's 
disgust,  whose  remembrances  were  of  days  of  luxury 
and  small  need  for  "quality  folks"  to  dust  rooms. 
The  work  over,  when  tired  of  her  labor,  Margaret  sat 
out  in  the  winter  sunshine  in  the  fur-lined  roque- 
laure,  madame's  extravagant  gift,  and,  enraptured, 
read  "The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  or  closing  the 
book,  sailed  with  the  Marie,  and  wondered  what  San 
Domingo  was  like. 

Meanwhile  the  town,  very  gay  just  now  with  din 
ners  Mr.  John  Adams  thought  so  excessive,  and  with 
sleigh-riding  parties  to  Belmont  and  Cliveden,  rang 
with  wild  statements  of  the  dressing  scene  and  the 
lottery.  Very  comic  it  was  to  the  young  bucks,  and, 


THE  RED  CITY  149 

"Pray,  Mrs.  Byrd,  did  the  garters  fit?"  "Fie,  for 
shame !"  "And  no  stays,  we  hear,"  wives  told  their 
husbands,  and  once  in  the  London  Coffee-house,  in 
front  of  which,  long  ago,  Congo  slaves  were  sold  and 
where  now  men  discussed  things  social,  commercial, 
and  political,  Schmidt  had  called  a  man  to  stern  ac 
count  and  exacted  an  apology.  The  gay  girls  told 
their  Quaker  cousins,  and  at  last  Friends  were  of  a 
mind  to  talk  to  Mary  Swanwick,  especially  of  the 
lottery. 

Before  graver  measures  were  taken,  it  was  advisa 
ble  that  one  should  undertake  to  learn  the  truth,  for 
it  was  felt  not  to  be  desirable  to  discipline  by  formal 
measures  so  blameless  a  member  where  clearly  there 
had  been  much  exaggeration  of  statement. 

Ten  days  after  the  dinner  at  Landsdowne,  John 
Pemberton  was  met  in  the  hall  of  the  Swanwick 
house  by  Mr.  Schmidt,  both  women  being  out.  The 
German  at  once  guessed  the  errand  of  this  most 
kindly  of  Quaker  gentles,  and  said,  "Mr.  Pemberton, 
you  are  come,  I  suppose,  to  speak  for  Friends  of  the 
gossip  about  these,  my  own  friends.  Pray  be  seated. 
They  are  out." 

"But  my  errand  is  not  to  thee,  who  art  not  of  the 
Society  of  Friends. ' ' 

' '  I  am  of  the  society  of  these  friends.  I  know  why 
you  are  come.  Talk  to  me." 

"I  am  advised  in  spirit  that  it  may  be  as  well  to 
do  so.  Thou  art  a  just  man.  I  shall  speak. " 

On  this  he  sat  down.  It  was  a  singular  figure  the 
German  saw.  The  broad,  white  beaver  hat,  which 
the  Quaker  gentleman  kept  on  his  head,  was  turned 


150  THE  BED  CITY 

up  in  front  and  at  the  back  over  abundant  gray  hair. 
A  great  eagle  nose  overhanging  a  sharp  chin,  brought 
near  to  it  by  the  toothless  jaws  of  age,  gave  to  the 
side  face  a  queer  look  of  rapacity,  contradicted  by 
the  refinement  and  serene  kindliness  of  the  full  face 
now  turned  upon  the  German. 

( 'Friend  Schmidt,"  he  said,  ''our  young  friend, 
we  are  told,  has  been  unwise  and  exhibited  herself 
among  those  of  the  world  in  unseemly  attire.  There 
are  those  of  us  who,  like  Friend  Logan,  are  setting  a 
bad  example  in  their  attire  to  the  young.  I  may  not 
better  state  how  we  feel  than  in  the  words  of  William 
Penn :  '  Choose  thy  clothes  by  thine  own  eye,  not  by 
another's;  the  more  simple  and  plain  they  are  the 
better ;  neither  unshapely  nor  fantastical,  and  for  use 
and  decency,  not  for  pride.'  I  think  my  memory 
serves  me. ' ' 

"I  shall  not  argue  with  you,  sir,  but  being  in  part 
an  eye-witness,  I  shall  relate  what  did  occur,"  and 
he  told  very  simply  of  the  rude  jest,  and  of  the  girl 's 
embarrassment  as  he  had  heard  it  from  the  mother. 

"I  see,"  said  Pemberton.  "Too  much  has  been 
made  of  it.  She  will  hear  no  more  of  it  from  Friends, 
and  it  may  be  a  lesson.  Wilt  thou  greet  her  with 
affectionate  remembrance  from  an  old  man  and  re 
peat  what  I  have  said  ? ' ' 

"I  will  do  so." 

' '  But  there  is  a  matter  more  serious.  We  are  told 
that  she  bought  a  lottery-ticket,  and  has  won  a  great 
prize.  This  we  hear  from  Josiah  Langstroth. ' ' 

"Did  he  say  this— that  she  bought  a  ticket?" 

* '  We  are  so  advised. ' ' 


THE  BED  CITY  151 

''Then  he  lied.  He  bought  it  in  her  name,  without 
asking  her. ' ' 

' '  Art  thou  sure  ?    Thy  language  is  strong. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  am  sure." 

"And  what  will  Mary  Swanwick  do  with  this 
money  won  in  evil  ways  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  It  is  well  that  she  should  be  counseled. ' ' 

"Do  you  not  think,  sir,  as  a  man  of  sense  and  a 
gentleman  and  more,  that  it  may  be  well  to  leave  a 
high-minded  woman  to  dispose  of  this  matter?  If 
she  goes  wrrong,  will  it  not  then  be  time  to  interfere  ? 
There  is  not  a  ha '-penny  of  greed  in  her.  Let  her 
alone. ' ' 

The  Quaker  sat  still  a  moment,  his  lean  figure  bent 
over  his  staff.  ' '  Thou  art  right, ' '  he  said,  looking  up. 
"The  matter  shall  rest,  unless  worse  come  of  it." 

"Why  not  see  Mr.  Langstroth  about  it?"  said  the 
German,  mischievously  inclined.  ' '  He  is  of  Friends, 
I  presume." 

"He  is  not,"  said  Pemberton.  "He  talked  in  the 
war  of  going  forth  from  us  with  Wetherill,  but  he  hath 
not  the  courage  of  a  house-fly.  His  doings  are  with 
out  conscience,  and  now  he  is  set  in  his  ways.  He 
hath  been  temperately  dealt  with  long  ago  and  in 
vain.  An  obstinate  man ;  when  he  sets  his  foot  down 
thou  hast  to  dig  it  up  to  move  him.  I  shall  not  open 
the  matter  with  Josiah  Langstroth.  I  have  been  led 
to  speak  harshly.  Farewell." 

When  Mrs.  Swanwick  heard  of  this  and  had  talked 
of  it  to  Margaret,  the  Pearl  said,  "We  will  not  take 
the  money,  and  uncle  cannot ;  and  it  may  go. ' '  Her 


152  THE  EED  CITY 

decisiveness  both  pleased  and  astonished  the  mother. 
It  was  a  maturing  woman  who  thus  anticipated 
Schmidt's  advice  and  her  own,  and  here  for  a  little 
while  the  matter  lay  at  rest. 

Not  all  Friends,  however,  were  either  aware  of 
what  Pemberton  had  learned  or  were  fully  satisfied, 
so  that  one  day  Daniel  Offley,  blacksmith,  a  noisy 
preacher  in  meetings  and  sometimes  advised  of  elders 
to  sit  down,  resolved  to  set  at  rest  alike  his  conscience 
and  his  curiosity.  Therefore,  on  a  February  after 
noon,  being  the  22d,  and  already  honored  as  the 
birthday  of  Washington,  he  found  Margaret  alone, 
as  luck  would  have  it.  To  this  unusual  house,  as  I 
have  said,  came  not  only  statesmen,  philosophers,  and 
the  rich.  Hither,  too,  came  the  poor  for  help,  the 
lesser  Quakers,  women  and  men,  for  counsel  or  a  lit 
tle  sober  gossip.  All  were  welcome,  and  Offley  was 
not  unfamiliar  with  the  ways  of  the  house. 

He  found  Margaret  alone,  and  sitting  down,  began 
at  once  and  harshly  to  question  her  in  a  loud  voice 
concerning  the  story  of  her  worldly  vanity,  and  asked 
why  she  could  thus  have  erred. 

The  girl  had  had  too  much  of  it.  Her  conscience 
was  clear,  and  Pemberton,  whom  she  loved  and  re 
spected,  had  been  satisfied,  as  Schmidt  had  told  them. 
She  grew  red,  and  rising,  said:  "I  have  listened  to 
thee ;  but  now  I  say  to  thee,  Daniel  Offley,  that  it  is 
none  of  thy  business.  Go  home  and  shoe  thy  horses. ' ' 

He  was  not  thus  to  be  put  down.  ' '  This  is  only  to 
add  bad  temper  to  thy  other  faults.  As  a  Friend  and 
for  many  of  the  Society,  I  would  know  what  thee  has 
done  with  thee  devil  wages  of  the  lottery." 


11 '  Thou  canst  not  shoe  iny  conscience  '" 


THE  RED  CITY  155 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment.  The  big,  ruddy 
face  struck  her  as  comical.  Her  too  often  repressed 
sense  of  humor  helped  her,  and  crying,  "Thou  canst 
not  shoe  my  conscience,  Daniel  Offley, ' '  she  fled  away 
up-stairs,  her  laughter  ringing  through  the  house,  a 
little  hysterical,  perhaps,  and  first  cousin  to  tears. 
The  amazed  preacher,  left  to  his  meditations,  was 
shocked  into  taking  off  his  beaver  and  saying  strong 
words  out  of  a  far  away  past. 

She  was  angry  beyond  the  common,  for  Schmidt 
had  said  it  was  all  of  it  unwise  and  meddlesome,  nor 
was  the  mother  better  pleased  than  he  when  she  came 
to  hear  of  Offley 's  visit.  "I  am  but  half  a  Friend/' 
she  confessed  to  Schmidt,  not  liking  altogether  even 
the  gentler  inquiries  of  John  Pemberton. 

When  on  the  next  Sunday  Madame  de  Courval  was 
about  to  set  out  for  the  Swedes'  church,  Mrs.  Swan- 
wick  said,  "It  is  time  to  go  to  meeting,  my  child. ' ' 
' '  I  am  not  going,  mother. ' ' 
"But  thou  didst  not  go  last  First  Day." 
'  *  No.   I  cannot,  mother.  May  I  go  with  madame  ? ' ' 
"Why  not?"  said  Schmidt,  looking  up  from  his 
book.    And  so  the  Pearl  went  to  Gloria  Dei. 

"They  have  lost  a  good  Quaker  by  their  imperti 
nence,"  said  Schmidt  to  himself.  "She  will  never 
again  go  to  meeting."  And,  despite  much  gentle 
urging  and  much  persuasive  kindness,  this  came  at 
last  to  be  her  custom,  although  she  still  wore  un 
changed  her  simple  Quaker  garb.  Madame  at  least 
was  pleased,  but  also  at  times  thoughtful  of  the  fu 
ture  when  the  young  vicomte  would  walk  between 
them  down  Swanson  Street  to  church. 


156  THE  BED  CITY 

There  was,  of  course,  as  yet  no  news  of  the  Marie, 
and  many  bets  on  the  result  of  the  bold  venture  were 
made  in  the  coffee-houses,  for  now,  in  March  of  the 
year  '93,  the  story  of  the  king's  death  and  of  war 
between  France  and  England  began  further  to  em 
bitter  party  strife  and  alarm  the  owners  of  ships. 
If  the  vicomtesse  was  anxious,  she  said  no  word  of 
what  she  felt.  Outside  of  the  quiet  home  where  she 
sat  over  her  embroidery  there  was  an  increase  of  po 
litical  excitement,  with  much  abuse,  and  in  the  ga 
zettes  wild  articles  over  classic  signatures.  With 
Jacobin  France  for  exemplars,  the  half-crazed  Re 
publicans  wore  tricolor  cockades,  and  the  bonnet 
rouge  passed  from  head  to  head  at  noisy  feasts  when 
"(jB,  Ira"  and  the  "Marseillaise"  were  sung.  Many 
persons  were  for  war  with  England,  but  the  wiser  of 
both  parties  were  for  the  declaration  of  neutrality, 
proclaimed  of  late  amid  the  fury  of  extreme  party 
sentiment.  The  new  French  minister  eagerly  looked 
for  by  the  republicans  was  soon  to  come  and  to  add 
to  the  embarrassment  of  the  Government  whatever 
of  mischief  insolent  folly  could  devise. 

Meanwhile  the  hearts  of  two  women  were  on  the 
sea,  and  the  ship-owners  were  increasingly  worried ; 
for  now  goods  for  French  ports  would  be  seized  on 
the  ocean  and  sailors  claimed  as  English  at  the  will 
of  any  British  captain. 

Amid  all  this  rancor  of  party  and  increase  of  anxi 
ety  as  to  whether  America  was  to  be  at  war  or  peace, 
the  small  incident  of  a  girl's  change  of  church  was 
soon  forgotten.  It  was  not  a  rare  occurrence,  and 
only  remarkable  because,  as  Schmidt  said  to  Gainor 


THE  RED  CITY  157 

Wynne  somewhat  later,  it  proved  what  a  convincing 
preacher  is  anger. 

Mistress  Wynne  had  come  home  from  Boston  after 
a  week's  travel,  and  being  tired,  went  to  bed  and  de 
cided  to  have  a  doctor,  with  Chovet  for  choice,  be 
cause  Rush  had  little  gossip.  She  was  amply  fed 
with  it,  including  the  talk  about  the  change  of  dress 
and  the  lottery.  So  good  was  the  effect  that,  on  the 
doctor 's  departure,  she  threw  his  pills  out  of  the  win 
dow,  and  putting  on  pattens,  took  her  cane  and  went 
away  through  the  slush  to  see  Margaret.  On  the  way 
many  things  passed  through  her  mind,  but  most  of 
all  she  remembered  the  spiritual  struggles  of  her  own 
young  days,  when  she,  too,  had  broken  with  Friends. 

And  now  when  she  met  Margaret  in  the  hall,  it 
was  not  the  girl  who  wept  most,  as  Gainor  cried  to 
Schmidt  to  go  and  not  mock  at  two  women  in  tears 
no  man  could  understand. 

''Ah,"  cried  Schmidt,  obediently  disappearing, 
"he  who  shall  explicate  the  tears  of  women  shall  be 
crowned  by  the  seraphs."  Thus  he  saw  Gainor  in 
her  tender  mood,  such  as  made  her  to  be  forgiven 
much  else  of  men  and  of  angels.  She  comforted  the 
girl,  and  over  the  sad  story  of  the  stays  and  garters 
she  laughed— not  then,  but  in  very  luxury  of  unfet 
tered  mirth  on  her  homeward  way. 

He  who  got  the  largest  satisfaction  out  of  poor 
Margaret 's  troubles  was  Josiah  Langstroth,  as  he  re 
flected  how  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  made 
Mary  Swanwick  angry,  had  stirred  up  Friends,  and 
at  last  had  left  the  Presbyterian  ministers  of  the 
trustees  of  Princeton  College  in  a  hopeless  quandary. 


158  THE  BED  CITY 

If  the  owner  of  the  prize  in  their  lottery  would  not 
take  it,  to  whom  did  it  belong  1  And  so  at  last  it  was 
left  in  Miss  Swanwick's  name  in  the  new  bank  Ham 
ilton  had  founded,  to  await  a  use  of  which  as  yet  no 
man  dreamed. 


XI 


WHEN  De  Courval  lost  sight  of  the  red  city, 
and  while  the  unusual  warmth  of  the  winter 
weather  was  favoring  their  escape  from  the  ice  adrift 
on  the  bay,  the  young  man  reflected  that  above  all 
things  it  was  wise  to  be  on  good  terms  with  his  cap 
tain. 

Accordingly,  he  said :  "  It  is  fit,  sir,  that  you  should 
advise  me  as  to  Mr.  Wynne's  instructions.  Have  the 
kindness  to  read  them.  I  have  not  done  so." 

Much  gratified,  the  captain  took  the  paper. 
"Hum!"  he  exclaimed,  "to  reach  Port  au  Prince  in 
time  to  prevent  unloading  of  the  George  Washing 
ton.  To  get  her  out  and  send  her  home  with  her 
cargo."  He  paused.  "We  may  be  in  time  to  over 
haul  and  stop  her;  but  if  she  has  arrived,  to  carry 
her  out  from  under  the  guns  of  the  fort  is  quite  an 
other  matter.  *  To  avoid  the  British  cruisers. '  Well, 
yes,  we  are  only  in  ballast,"— he  looked  up  with 
pride  at  the  raking  masts  and  well-trimmed  sails,— 
"the  ship  does  not  float  can  catch  the  Marie.  'Free 
to  do  as  seems  best  if  we  are  stopped  by  privateers. ' 
Ah,  he  knows  well  enough  what  I  should  do. ' ' 

"He  seems  to  have  provided  for  that,"  said  De 
Courval,  glancing  at  the  carronades  and  the  long 
Tom  in  the  bow  such  as  many  a  peaceful  ship  pru 
dently  carried. 

159 


160  THE  RED  CITY 

The  captain  grinned.  ' '  That  is  like  Hugh  Wynne. 
But  these  island  fools  rely  on  us  for  diet.  They  will 
be  starving,  and  if  the  George  Washington  reach  the 
island  before  we  do,  they  will  lose  no  time,  and,  I 
guess,  pay  in  worthless  bills  on  France,  or  not  at  all. 
However,  we  shall  see."  This  ended  the  conversa 
tion. 

They  had  the  usual  varied  luck  of  the  sea ;  but  the 
master  carried  sail,  to  the  alarm  of  his  mates,  and 
seeing  none  of  the  dreaded  cruisers,  overtook  a 
French  merchant  ship  and  learned  with  certainty  of 
the  outbreak  of  war  between  France  and  Great  Brit 
ain,  a  fresh  embarrassment,  as  they  well  knew. 

At  sundown  on  February  the  15th,  the  lookout  on 
the  crosstrees  saw  the  mountains  of  San  Domingo 
back  of  the  city  of  Port  au  Prince,  and  running  in 
under  shelter  of  one  of  the  many  islands  which  pro 
tect  the  bay,  the  captain  and  the  supercargo  took 
counsel  as  to  what  they  should  do. 

"If,"  said  De  Courval,  "I  could  get  ashore  as  a 
French  sailor  at  night,  and  learn  something  of  how 
things  stand,  we  might  be  helped. ' ' 

The  captain  feared  risks  neither  for  himself  nor 
for  another,  and  at  last  said:  "I  can  run  you  in  at 
dark,  land  you  on  a  spit  of  sand  below  the  town,  and 
wait  for  you. ' ' 

Thus  it  was  that  in  sailor  garb,  a  tricolor  cockade 
in  his  hat,  De  Courval  left  the  boat  at  eight  at  night 
and  began  with  caution  to  approach  the  town.  The 
brilliant  moon  of  a  clear  tropic  night  gave  sufficient 
light,  and  following  the  shore,  he  soon  came  upon  the 
warehouses  and  docks,  where  he  hoped  to  learn  what 


THE  RED  CITY  161 

ships  were  in  the  harbor.  Soon,  however,  he  was 
halted  by  sentries,  and  being  refused  permission  to 
pass,  turned  away  from  the  water-front.  Passing 
among  rude  cabins  and  seeing  almost  no  one,  he  came 
out  at  last  on  a  wide,  well-built  avenue  and  into  a 
scene  of  sorrowful  misery.  Although  the  new  com 
missioners  of  the  republic  had  put  down  the  insur 
rection  of  the  slaves  with  appalling  slaughter,  their 
broken  bands  were  still  busy  with  the  torch  and  the 
sword,  so  that  the  cities  were  filled  with  refugees  of 
the  plantation  class— men  and  women  who  were 
quite  helpless  and  knew  not  where  to  turn  for  shelter 
or  for  the  bread  of  the  day. 

De  Courval  had  been  quite  unprepared  for  the 
wretchedness  he  now  saw.  Indistinct  in  the  moon- 
made  shadows,  or  better  seen  where  the  light  lay, 
were  huddled  groups  of  women  and  children,  with 
here  and  there  near  by  a  man  made  helpless  by  years 
of  the  ownership  of  man.  Children  were  crying, 
while  women  tried  in  vain  to  comfort  them.  Others 
were  silent  or  wildly  bewailing  their  fate.  To  all 
seeming,  indifferent  to  the  oft-repeated  appeals  of 
misery,  went  by  officials,  army  officers,  smoking  ci 
garettes,  drunken  sailors,  and  such  women  as  a  sea 
port  educates  to  baseness.  Half  of  the  town  had  been 
for  months  in  ashes.  The  congestion  of  the  remain 
der  was  more  and  more  felt  as  refugees  from  ruined 
plantations  came  hither,  hungry  and  footsore,  to  seek 
food  where  was  little  and  charity  where  was  none. 

Unable  to  do  more  than  pity,  the  young  vicomte 
went  his  way  with  care  along  a  street  strangely 

crowded  with  all  manner  of  people,  himself  on  the 
11 


162  THE  RED  CITY 

lookout  for  a  cafe  where  he  might  find  seamen.  Pres 
ently  he  found  what  he  sought,  and  easily  fell  into 
sea-talk  with  a  group  of  sailors.  He  learned  only 
that  the  town  was  without  the  usual  supplies  of  food 
from  the  States;  that  the  troops  lived  on  fish,  ba 
nanas,  and  yams,  and  that  General  Esbarbe  had  ruth 
lessly  put  down  the  negro  insurrection.  Only  one 
ship  had  come  in  of  late.  The  outbreak  of  war  be 
tween  England  and  France  had,  in  fact,  for  a  time 
put  an  end  to  our  valuable  trade  with  the  islands. 
Learning  nothing  of  value,  he  paid  his  score  and 
stood  a  moment  in  the  doorway,  the  drunken  revel 
of  idle  sailors  behind  him  and  before  him  the  help 
less  wretchedness  of  men  and  women  to  whom  want 
had  been  hitherto  unknown.  He  must  seek  elsewhere 
for  what  he  wished  to  learn.  As  he  hesitated,  two 
men  in  white  linen  went  by  with  a  woman.  They 
were  laughing  and  talking  loudly,  apparently  indif 
ferent  to  the  Ditiable  groups  on  door-steps  or  on  the 
sidewalks. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  Cocoanut,"  said  the  woman. 
One  of  the  men  said  ' '  Yes. ' '  They  went  on,  singing 
a  light  drinking  song.  No  one  seemed  to  care  for 
any  one  else:  officials,  sailors,  soldiers,  destitute 
planters  seemed  all  to  be  in  a  state  of  detachment, 
all  kindly  human  ties  of  man  to  man  broken.  In 
fact,  for  a  year  the  island  had  been  so  gorged  with 
tragedy  that  it  no  longer  caused  remark. 

De  Courval  followed  the  men  and  women,  presum 
ing  that  they  were  going  to  a  cafe.  If  he  learned 
nothing  there,  he  would  go  back  to  the  ship. 

Pushing  carelessly  by  a  group  of  refugees  on  the 


THE  BED  CITY  163 

outside  of  the  "Cocoanut,"  the  party  went  in,  and 
one,  an  official,  as  he  seemed  to  be,  sat  down  at  a 
table  with  the  woman.  De  Courval,  following,  took 
the  nearest  table,  while  the  other  companion  of  the 
woman  went  to  the  counter  to  give  an  order.  The 
woman  sat  still,  humming  a  coarse  Creole  love-song, 
and  the  vicomte  looked  about  him.  The  room  was 
dimly  lighted,  and  quite  half  of  it  was  occupied  by 
the  same  kind  of  unhappy  people  who  lay  about  on 
the  streets,  and  may  have  paid  for  leave  to  sit  in  the 
cafe.  The  unrestrained,  noisy  grief  of  these  well- 
dressed  women  amazed  the  young  man,  used  to  the 
courage  and  self-control  of  the  women  of  his  own 
class.  The  few  tables  near  by  were  occupied  by  small 
parties  of  officers,  in  no  way  interested  in  the  wretch 
edness  about  them.  A  servant  came  to  De  Courval. 
What  would  he  have?  Fried  fish  there  was,  and 
baked  yams,  but  no  other  dish.  He  asked  for  wine, 
paid  for  it,  and  began  to  be  of  a  sudden  curious  about 
the  party  almost  within  touch.  The  woman  was  a 
handsome  quadroon.  Pinned  in  her  high  masses  of 
black  hair  were  a  dozen  of  the  large  fireflies  of  the 
tropics,  a  common  ornament  of  a  certain  class  of 
women.  From  moment  to  moment  their  flashing  lan 
terns  strangely  illuminated  her  hair  and  face.  As  he 
watched  her  in  wonder,  the  man  who  had  gone  to  the 
counter  came  back  and  sat  down,  facing  the  crowd. 

"Those  sacres  enfants,"  he  said,  "they  should  be 
turned  out ;  one  can  hardly  hear  a  word  for  the  bawl 
ing.  I  shall  be  glad  to  leave— ' ' 

"When  do  you  go,  Commissioner?"  said  the 
woman. 


164  THE  EED  CITY 

''In  a  day  or  two.  I  am  to  return  to  France  as 
soon  as  possible  and  make  our  report. ' ' 

De  Courval  was  startled  by  the  voice,  and  stared 
at  the  speaker.  The  face  was  no  longer  clean-shaven, 
and  now  wore  the  mustache,  a  recent  Jacobin  fash 
ion.  The  high-arched  eyebrows  of  the  man  of  the 
Midi,  the  sharp  voice,  decided  him.  It  was  Carteaux. 
For  a  moment  Rene  had  the  slight  vertigo  of  a  man 
to  whose  intense  passion  is  forbidden  the  relief  of 
physical  action.  The  scene  at  Avignon  was  before 
him,  and  instantly,  too,  the  sense  of  need  to  be  care 
ful  of  himself,  and  to  think  solely  of  his  errand.  He 
swallowed  his  wine  in  haste,  and  sat  still,  losing  no 
word  of  the  talk,  as  the  other  man  said : 

"They  will  unload  the  American  ship  to-morrow, 
I  suppose. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Carteaux;  "and  pay  in  good  repub 
lican  assignats  and  promises.  Then  I  shall  sail  on 
her  to  Philadelphia,  and  go  thence  to  France.  Our 
work  here  is  over. ' ' 

De  Courval  had  heard  enough.  If  the  ship  went 
to  the  States,  there  he  would  find  his  enemy.  To  let 
him  go,  thus  unpunished,  when  so  near,  was  obvi 
ously  all  that  he  could  do.  He  rose  and  went  out. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  had  left  the  town  behind  him 
and  was  running  along  the  beach,  relieved  by  rapid 
action.  He  hailed  the  boat,  lying  in  wait  off  the 
shore,  and  had,  as  he  stood,  the  thought  that  with  his 
father 's  murderer  within  reach,  duty  had  denied  him 
the  privilege  of  retributive  justice.  It  was  like  the 
dreams  with  which  at  times  he  was  troubled— when 
he  saw  Carteaux  smiling  and  was  himself  unable  to 


THE  BED  CITY  165 

move.  Looking  back,  as  the  boat  ran  on  to  the  beach, 
he  saw  a  red  glow  far  away,  and  over  it  the  pall  of 
smoke  where  hundreds  of  plantations  were  burning, 
with  everywhere,  as  he  had  heard,  ruin,  massacre, 
and  ruthless  executions  of  the  revolted  slaves  set 
free.  Such  of  the  upper  class  as  could  leave  had  de 
parted,  and  long  since  Blanchelande,  ex-governor, 
had  been  sent  to  France,  to  be  remembered  only  as 
the  first  victim  of  the  guillotine. 

The  captain,  uneasy,  hurried  De  Courval  into  the 
boat,  for  he  had  been  gone  two  hours.  There  was  a 
light,  but  increasing  wind  off  shore  to  help  them  and 
before  them  a  mile's  pull.  As  they  rowed  to  the  ship, 
the  captain  heard  De  CourvaFs  news.  "We  must 
make  sure  it  is  our  ship, ' '  said  the  captain.  ' ' I  could 
row  in  and  see.  I  should  know  that  old  tub  a  hun 
dred  yards  away — yes,  sir,  even  in  the  night. ' ' 

"The  town,  Captain,  is  in  confusion— full  of  plant 
ers,  men,  women,  and  children  lying  about  the  streets. 
There  is  pretty  surely  a  guard  on  board  that  ship. 
Why  not  beat  in  closer  without  lights,  and  then,  with 
all  the  men  you  can  spare,  find  the  ship,  and  if  it  is 
ours,  take  her  out  ? ' ' 

"If  we  can.    A  good  idea.    It  might  be  done." 

"It  is  the  only  way.  It  must  be  done.  Give  me 
the  mate  and  ten  men. ' ' 

"What !  Give  you  my  men,  and  sit  down  and  wait 
for  you?  No,  sir.  I  shall  go  with  you. "  He  was  of 
a  breed  which  has  served  the  country  well  on  sea  and 
land,  and  whose  burial-places  are  battle-fields  and 
oceans. 

It  was  soon  decided  to  wait  to  attack  until  the 


166  THE  BED  CITY 

town  was  asleep.  In  the  interval  De  Courval,  in  case 
of  accident,  wrote  to  his  mother  and  to  Schmidt,  but 
with  no  word  of  Carteaux.  Then  for  a  while  he  sat 
still,  reflecting  with  very  mingled  feelings  that  suc 
cess  in  carrying  the  ship  would  again  cut  him  off 
from  all  chance  of  meeting  Carteaux.  It  did  seem  to 
him  a  malignant  fate;  but  at  last  dismissing  it,  he 
buckled  on  his  sword,  took  up  his  pistols,  and  went 
on  deck. 

At  midnight  the  three  boats  set  out  with  muffled 
oars,  and  after  a  hard  pull  against  an  off-shore  wind, 
through  the  warm  tropic  night,  they  approached  the 
town. 

The  captain  whistled  softly,  and  the  boats  came 
together. 

"Speak  low,"  he  said  to  De  Courval.  "It  is  the 
George  Washington  and  no  mistake.  They  are  wide 
awake,  by  ill  luck,  and  singing." 

"Yes,  I  hear  them." 

* '  But  they  are  not  on  deck.  There  are  lights  in  the 
cabin."  The  "Qa  Ira"  rang  out  in  bits  across  the 
water.  The  young  noble  heard  it  with  the  anguish  it 
always  awakened;  for  unfailingly  it  gave  back  to 
memory  the  man  he  longed  to  meet,  and  the  blood- 
dabbled  mob  which  came  out  of  the  hall  at  Avignon 
shouting  this  Jacobin  song. 

The  captain  said :  "We  will  board  her  on  this  side, 
all  together.  She  is  low  in  the  water.  Pull  in  with 
your  boat  and  secure  the  watch  forward  and  I  will 
shut  the  after  hatches  and  companionway.  Look  out 
for  the  forecastle.  If  her  own  men  are  on  board,  they 
will  be  there." 


THE  BED  CITY  167 

De  Courval's  heart  alone  told  him  of  the  excite 
ment  he  felt;  but  he  was  cool,  tranquil,  and  of  the 
temperament  which  rises  to  fullest  competence  in 
an  hour  of  danger.  A  minute  later  he  was  on  deck, 
and  moving  forward  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  came 
upon  the  watch.  ' '  Hush ! "  he  said ;  "  no  noise.  Two 
to  each  man.  They  are  asleep.  There— choke  hard 
and  gag.  Here,  cut  up  this  rope ;  a  good  gag. "  In  a 
moment  three  scared  sailors  awoke  from  dreams  of 
their  Breton  homes,  and  were  trussed  with  sailor  skill. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said  in  French,  "a  pistol  ball  for 
the  man  who  moves.  Stay  by  them,  you  Jones,  and 
come,  the  rest  of  you.  Rouse  the  crew  in  the  fore 
castle,  mate.  Call  to  them.  If  the  answer  is  in 
French,  let  no  man  up.  Don't  shoot,  if  you  can  help 
it." 

He  turned  quickly,  and,  followed  by  four  men,  ran 
aft,  hearing  wild  cries  and  oaths.  A  man  looking  out 
of  a  port-hole  had  seen  two  boats  and  the  glint  of 
muskets.  As  the  captain  swung  over  the  rail,  half  a 
dozen  men  ran  up  on  deck  shouting  an  alarm.  The 
captain  struck  with  the  butt  of  his  pistol.  A  man 
fell.  De  Courval  grappled  with  a  burly  sailor,  and 
falling,  rose  as  the  mate  hit  the  guard  on  the  head 
with  a  marline-spike.  Then  an  officer  fired,  and  a 
sailor  went  down  wounded.  It  was  savage  enough, 
but  brief,  for  the  American  crew  and  captain  re 
leased,  were  now  running  aft  from  the  forecastle,  and 
the  French  were  tumbled  into  the  companionway  and 
the  hatches  battened  down  in  haste,  but  no  man 
killed. 

"Get  up  sail!"  cried  the  captain.    "An  ax  to  the 


168  THE  RED  CITY 

cable;  she  is  moored  to  a  buoy.  Tumble  into  the 
boats,  some  of  you !  Get  a  rope  out  ahead,  and  pull 
her  bow  round.  Now,  then,  put  out  the  lights,  and 
hurry,  too ! ' '  As  he  gave  his  orders,  and  men  were 
away  up  the  rigging,  shot  after  shot  from  the  cabin 
windows  drew,  as  was  meant,  the  attention  of  the 
town.  Lights  were  seen  moving  on  the  pier,  the 
sound  of  oars  was  heard.  There  was  the  red  flare  of 
signals  on  shore;  cries  and  oaths  came  from  below 
and  from  the  shore  not  far  away. 

It  was  too  late.  The  heavy  ship,  as  the  cable 
parted,  swung  round.  The  wind  being  off  the  land, 
sail  after  sail  filled,  and  picking  up  his  boats  in  haste, 
the  captain  stood  by  the  helm,  the  ship  slowly  gather 
ing  way,  while  cannon-shots  from  the  batteries  fell 
harmless  in  her  wake. 

"Darn  the  old  sea-barrel!"  the  captain  cried. 
Two  boats  were  after  them.  "Down!  All  of  you, 
down!"  A  dozen  musket-balls  rattled  over  them. 
1 '  Give  them  a  dose,  boys ! ' ' 

"No,  no!"  cried  De  Courval.  "Shoot  over  them! 
Over!  Ah,  good!  Well  done!"  For  at  the  reply 
the  boats  ceased  rowing,  and,  save  for  a  few  spent 
bullets,  the  affair  was  ended.  The  brig,  moving  more 
quickly,  soon  left  their  pursuers,  and  guided  by 
lights  on  the  Marie,  they  presently  joined  her. 

' '  Now,  then, ' '  said  the  captain,  ' '  get  out  a  boat ! ' ' 
When  one  by  one  the  disgusted  guard  came  on  deck 
and  in  the  darkness  were  put  in  the  boat,  their  officer 
asked  in  French  who  had  been  their  captors. 

De  Courval,  on  hearing  this,  replied,  "His  Ma 
jesty's  schooner  St.  George,  privateer  of  Bristol." 


THE  RED  CITY  169 

"But,  mon  dieu,"  cried  the  bewildered  man,  "this 
ship  is  American.  It  is  piracy." 

"No,  monsieur;  she  was  carrying  provisions  to  a 
French  port."  The  persistent  claim  of  England, 
known  as  the  "provision  order,"  was  well  in  force, 
and  was  to  make  trouble  enough  before  it  was  aban 
doned. 

The  officer,  furious,  said :  ' '  You  speak  too  well  our 
tongue.  Ah,  if  I  had  you  on  shore ! ' ' 

De  Courval  laughed.  ' '  Adieu,  Citizen. ' '  The  boat 
put  off  for  the  port,  and  the  two  ships  made  all 
sail. 

By  and  by  the  captain  called  to  De  Courval  to 
come  to  the  cabin.  "Well,  Mr.  Lewis,— if  that  is  to 
be  your  name,— we  are  only  at  the  beginning  of  our 
troubles.  These  seas  will  swarm  with  ships  of  war 
and  English  privateers,  and  we  must  stay  by  this  old 
tub.  If  she  is  caught,  they  will  go  over  the  manifest 
and  take  all  they  want  out  of  her,  and  men,  too, 
damn  'em." 

"I  see,"  said  De  Courval.  "Is  there  anything  to 
do  but  take  our  chance  on  the  sea  1 ' ' 

"I  shall  run  north  and  get  away  from  the  islands 
out  of  their  cruising  grounds. ' ' 

"What  if  we  run  over  to  Martinique?  How  long 
would  it  take?" 

"Three  days  and  a  half  as  we  sail,  or  as  that  old 
cask  does.  But  what  for  1 ' ' 

"I  heard  that  things  are  not  so  bad  there.  We 
might  sell  the  old  tub 's  cargo. ' ' 

1 '  Sell  it  ?    They  would  take  it. ' ' 

"Perhaps.    But  we  might  lie  off  the  port  if  there 


170  THE  BED  CITY 

is  no  blockade  and— well,  negotiate.  Once  rid  of  the 
cargo,  she  would  sail  better. ' ' 

"Yes ;  but  Mr.  Wynne  has  said  nothing  of  this.  It 
is  only  to  risk  what  we  have  won.  I  won 't  risk  it. ' ' 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  De  Courval,  "but  now  I  mean 
to  try  it.  Kindly  run  your  eye  over  these  instruc 
tions.  This  is  a  matter  of  business  only. ' ' 

The  captain  reddened  angrily  as  he  said,  "And 
I  am  to  obey  a  boy  like  you  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  master  knew  Hugh  Wynne  well,  and  after  a 
pause  said  grimly : l  i  Very  good.  It  is  out  of  the  fry 
ing-pan  into  the  fire."  He  hated  it,  but  there  was 
the  order,  and  obedience  to  those  over  him  and  from 
those  under  him  was  part  of  his  sailor  creed. 

In  four  days,  about  dawn,  delayed  by  the  slower 
ship,  they  were  off  the  port  of  St.  Pierre.  The  har 
bor  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  blockade  as  yet. 

"And  now,"  said  the  captain,  "what  to  do?  You 
are  the  master,  it  seems.  Run  in,  I  suppose  ? ' ' 

"No,  wait  a  little,  Captain.  If,  when  I  say  what  I 
want  done,  it  seems  to  you  unreasonable,  I  shall  give 
it  up.  Get  a  bit  nearer;  beat  about;  hoist  our  own 
flag.  They  will  want  to  understand,  and  will  send  a 
boat  out.  Then  we  shall  see. ' ' 

"I  can  do  that,  but  every  hour  is  full  of  risk." 
Still  he  obeyed,  beginning  to  comprehend  his  super 
cargo  and  to  like  the  audacity  of  the  game. 

Near  to  six  o'clock  the  bait  was  taken.  A  boat  put 
out  and  drew  near  with  caution.  The  captain  began 
to  enjoy  it.  "A  nibble, ' '  he  said. 

"Give  me  a  boat,"  said  De  Courval.    "They  will 


THE  BED  CITY  171 

not  come  nearer.  There  are  but  five  men.  I  must 
risk  it.  Let  the  men  go  armed. ' '  In  ten  minutes  he 
was  beside  the  Frenchmen,  and  seeing  a  young  man 
in  uniform  at  the  tiller,  he  said  in  French:  "I  am 
from  that  brig.  She  is  loaded  with  provisions  for 
this  port  or  San  Domingo,  late  from  the  States. ' ' 

"Very  well.  You  are  welcome.  Run  in.  The  vi 
comte  will  take  all,  and  pay  well.  Foi  d'honneur, 
monsieur ;  it  is  all  as  I  say.  You  are  French  1 ' ' 

"Yes;  an  emigre." 

"We  like  not  that,  but  I  will  go  on  board  and  talk 
it  over. ' ' 

When  on  the  Marie  they  went  to  the  cabin  with  the 
captains  of  the  two  American  ships.  "And  now  let 
us  talk,"  said  De  Courval.  "Who  commands  here 
for  the  republic  1 ' ' 

' '  Citizen  Rochambeau ;  a  good  Jacobin,  too. ' ' 

De  Courval  was  startled.  ' '  A  cousin  of  my  mother 
— the  vicomte — a  Jacobin ! ' ' 

1 1  Is  monsieur  for  our  side  ? ' '  asked  the  officer. 

"  No ;  I  am  for  the  king. ' ' 

"King,  monsieur!  The  king  was  guillotined  on 
January  21." 

"Mon  Dieu!" 

1  *  May  I  ask  your  name,  monsieur  ? ' ' 

* '  I  am  the  Vicomte  de  Courval,  at  your  service. ' ' 

"By  St.  Denis!  I  know;  you  are  of  Normandy, 
of  the  religion,  like  ourselves.  I  am  the  Comte  de 
Lourmel. ' ' 

' '  And  with  the  Jacobins  1 ' ' 

"Yes.  I  have  an  eminent  affection  for  my  head. 
When  I  can,  my  brother  and  I  will  get  away." 


172  THE  BED  CITY 

1 1  Then  we  may  talk  plainly  as  two  gentlemen. ' ' 

"  Assuredly. " 

"I  do  not  trust  that  vicomte  of  yours— a  far-away 
cousin  of  my  mother,  I  regret  to  say." 

"Nor  would  I  trust  him.  He  wished  the  town  il 
luminated  on  account  of  the  king's  death." 

"It  seems  incredible.  Poor  Louis!  But  now,  to 
our  business.  Any  hour  may  bring  a  British  cruiser. 
This  cargo  is  worth  in  peace  twenty  thousand  dol 
lars.  Now  it  is  worth  thirty-two  thousand,— salt 
beef,  potatoes,  pork,  onions,  salt  fish,  and  some  forty 
casks  of  Madeira.  Ordinarily  we  should  take  home 
coffee  and  sugar,  but  now  it  is  to  be  paid  for  in  louis 
d'or  or  in  gold  joes,  here— here  on  board,  monsieur." 

"But  the  cargo?" 

1 '  The  sea  is  quiet.  When  the  money  is  on  deck,  we 
will  run  in  nearer,  and  you  must  lighter  the  cargo 
out.  I  will  give  you  one  day,  and  only  one.  There  is 
no  other  way.  We  are  well  armed,  as  you  see,  and 
will  stand  no  Jacobin  tricks.  Tell  the  vicomte  Sans 
Culottes  I  am  his  cousin,  De  Courval.  Stay,  I  shall 
write  a  note.  It  is  to  take  on  my  terms,  and  at  once, 
or  to  refuse. ' ' 

"He  will  take  it.  Money  is  plenty;  but  one  can 
not  eat  louis  d  'ors.  How  long  do  you  give  us  ? " 

' '  Two  hours  to  go  and  return  ;  and,  monsieur,  I  am 
trusting  you." 

"We  will  play  no  tricks."  And  so  presently  the 
boat  pushed  off  and  was  away  at  speed. 

"And  now  what  is  all  that  damned  parley- vou- 
ing?  It  was  too  fast  for  me,"  said  the  captain;  but 
on  hearing,  he  said  it  would  work.  He  would  hover 


THE  RED  CITY  173 

round  the  George  Washington  with  cannon  loaded 
and  men  armed.  Within  the  time  set  the  officer  came 
back  with  another  boat.  "I  have  the  money/'  he 
said.  "The  vicomte  swore  well  and  long,  and  would 
much  desire  your  company  on  shore."  De  Courval 
laughed.  * '  I  grieve  to  disappoint  him. ' ' 

"The  lighters  are  on  the  way,"  said  De  Lourmel— 
"a  dozen;  and  upon  my  honor,  there  will  be  no  at 
tempt  at  capture. ' ' 

The  ship  ran  in  nearer  while  the  gold  was  counted, 
and  then  with  all  possible  haste  the  cargo,  partly  a 
deck-load,  was  lightered  away,  the  wind  being 
scarcely  more  than  a  breeze.  By  seven  at  night  the 
vessel  was  cleared,  for  half  of  the  Marie's  men  had 
helped.  A  small  barrel  of  wine  was  put  in  the 
count's  boat,  and  a  glad  cheer  rang  out  as  all  sail 
was  set. 

Then  at  last  the  captain  came  over  to  where  De 
Courval,  leaning  against  the  rail,  allowed  himself  the 
first  pipe  of  the  busiest  day  of  his  life ;  for  no  man  of 
the  crew  had  worked  harder. 

"I  want  to  say  you  were  right,  young  man,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  say  so  at  home.  I  came  darn  near  to 
not  doing  it. ' ' 

"Why,  without  you,  sir,"  said  De  Courval,  "I 
should  have  been  helpless.  The  cutting  out  was 
yours,  and  this  time  we  divide  honors  and  hold  our 
tongues. ' ' 

"Not  I,"  said  the  master;  nor  did  he,  being  as  hon 
est  as  any  of  his  race  of  sea-dogs. 

The  lumbering  old  brig  did  fairly  well.  After 
three  stormy  weeks,  in  mid-March  off  the  Jersey  coast 


174  THE  BED  CITY 

they  came  in  sight  of  a  corvette  flying  the  tricolor. 
The  captain  said  things  not  to  be  put  on  record,  and 
signaled  his  clumsy  consort  far  astern  to  put  to  sea. 
"An  Englishman  all  over,"  said  the  captain.  Then 
he  sailed  straight  for  the  corvette  with  the  flag  he 
loved  flying.  There  was  a  smart  gale  from  the  east, 
and  a  heavy  sea  running.  Of  a  sudden,  as  if 
alarmed,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  came  down,  a  tricolor 
went  up,  and  the  Marie  turned  tail  for  the  Jersey 
coast.  De  Courval  watched  the  game  with  interest. 
The  captain  enjoyed  it,  as  men  who  gamble  on  sea 
chances  enjoy  their  risks,  and  said,  laughing,  "I  won 
der  does  that  man  know  the  coast?  He  's  a  morsel 
reckless. ' ' 

The  corvette  went  about  and  followed.  "Halloa! 
He  's  going  to  talk ! "  A  cannon  flash  was  followed 
by  a  ball,  which  struck  the  rail. 

"Not  bad,"  said  the  captain,  and  turning,  saw  De 
Courval  on  the  deck.  ' '  Are  you  hit,  man  ? "  he  cried. 

"Not  badly."  But  the  blood  was  running  freely 
down  his  stocking  as  he  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"Get  him  below!" 

"No,  no!"  cried  De  Courval.  The  mate  ripped 
open  his  breeches.  "A  bad  splinter  wound,  sir,  and 
an  ugly  bruise."  In  spite  of  his  protests,  they  car 
ried  him  to  the  cabin  and  did  some  rude  sea  surgery. 
Another  sharp  fragment  had  cut  open  his  cheek,  but 
what  Dr.  Rush  would  have  called  "diachylon  plas 
ter"  sufficed  for  this,  and  in  great  pain  he  lay  and 
listened,  still  for  a  time  losing  blood  very  freely.  The 
corvette  veered  and  let  go  a  broadside  while  the  cap 
tain  looked  up  at  the  rigging  anxiously.  ' '  Too  much 


THE  RED  CITY  175 

sea  on, ' '  he  said.    ' '  I  will  lay  his  damn  ribs  on  Abse- 
com  Beach,  if  he  holds  on. ' ' 

Apparently  the  corvette  knew  better,  and  ma- 
noeuvered  in  hope  to  catch  a  too  wary  foe,  now  flying 
along  the  shallow  coast  in  perilous  waters.  At  night 
fall  the  corvette  gave  up  a  dangerous  chase,  got 
about,  and  was  off  to  sea.  At  morning  the  English 
war-ship  caught  the  brig,  being  clever  enough  to  lie 
off  the  capes.  The  captain  of  the  George  Washington 
wisely  lacked  knowledge  of  her  consort  the  schooner, 
and  the  Englishman  took  out  of  his  ship  five  men,  de 
claring  them  Britons,  although  they  spoke  sound, 
nasal  Cape  Cod  American. 


XII 


AN  express-rider  from  Chester  had  ridden  through 
J\.  the  night  to  carry  to  Mr.  Wynne  at  Merion  the 
news  of  his  ships'  return  and  a  brief  note  from  the 
captain  to  say  that  all  had  gone  well. 

Though  weaker  than  he  was  willing  to  believe, 
De  Courval  was  able  with  some  help  to  get  on  deck 
and  was  welcomed  by  Wynne,  who  saw  with  sudden 
anxiety  the  young  man's  pallor;  for  although 
neither  wound  was  serious,  he  had  lost  blood  enough 
to  satisfy  even  the  great  Dr.  Rush,  and  limped  un 
easily  as  he  went  to  the  rail  to  meet  the  ship-owner. 

'  *  Are  you  hurt  ? ' '  asked  Wynne. 

"Not  badly.  We  had  a  little  bout  with  a  British 
corvette.  Captain  Biddle  will  tell  you,  sir.  St. 
Denis !  but  it  was  fun  while  it  lasted ;  and  the  cutting 
out,  too." 

"I  envy  you,"  said  Wynne,  with  swift  remem 
brance  of  the  market-place  in  Germantown,  the  glow 
of  battle  in  his  gray  Welsh  eyes. 

De  Courval 's  face  lighted  up  at  the  thought  of 
it.  "But  now,"  he  said— "now  I  must  see  my 
mother— oh,  at  once." 

"The  tide  is  at  full  flood.  A  boat  shall  drop  you 
at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  Can  you  walk  up  from 
the  shore,  or  shall  I  send  you  a  chaise  ? ' ' 

"I  can  walk,  sir."    He  was  too  eager  to  consider 

176 


THE  RED  CITY  177 

his  weakness,  and  strong  hands  helping  him  into  and 
out  of  the  boat,  in  a  few  minutes,  for  the  distance 
was  small,  he  was  set  ashore  at  the  foot  of  the  gar 
den,  now  bare  and  leafless.  He  dismissed  the  men 
with  thanks,  and  declared  he  required  no  further 
help.  With  much-needed  care  he  limped  up  the 
slope,  too  aware  of  pain  and  of  an  increase  of 
weakness  that  surprised  him,  but  nevertheless  with  a 
sense  of  exhilaration  at  the  thought  of  coming  home 
—yes,  home— after  having  done  what  he  well  knew 
would  please  his  mother.  No  other  thought  was  in 
his  mind. 

Of  a  sudden  he  heard  voices,  and,  looking  up,  saw 
Mrs.  Swanwick  and  Margaret.  Gay,  excited,  and 
happy,  he  stumbled  forward  as  they  came,  the  girl 
crying  out:  "The  vicomte,  mother!" 

' '  Ah,  but  it  is  good  to  see  you ! "  he  said  as  he  took 
the  widow's  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  then  the  girl's, 
who  flushed  hot  as  he  rose  unsteadily.  Seeing  her 
confusion,  he  said:  "Pardon  me.  It  is  our  way  at 
home,  and  I  am  so,  so  very  glad  to  get  back  to  you 
all!" 

' '  But— thou  art  lame ! ' '  cried  the  widow,  troubled. 

"And  his  face— he  is  hurt,  mother ! ' ' 

1 '  Yes,  yes ;  but  it  is  of  no  moment.  We  had  a  one 
sided  battle  at  sea."  Then  he  reeled,  recovering 
himself  with  effort.  ' ( My  mother  is  well  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  Lean  on  me.  Put  a  hand  on  my  arm," 
said  Mrs.  Swanwick.  "Ah,  but  the  mother  will  be 
glad!"  And  thus,  the  Pearl  walking  behind,  they 
went  into  the  house.  '  *  Tell  madame  he  is  here,  Mar 
garet."  The  young  woman  went  by  them  and  up- 

12 


178  THE  EED  CITY 

stairs  to  the  vicomtesse  's  bedroom,  breathless  as  she 
entered  in  haste. 

The  vicomtesse  said  sharply:  " Always  knock, 
child." 

"I  forgot.  He  is  come.  He  is  here.  I— we  are  so 
glad  for  thee." 

"My  son?"    She  rose. 

"Yes,  yes."  Margaret  fled  away.  It  was  not  for 
other  eyes;  she  knew  that.  The  vicomtesse  met  him 
on  the  landing,  caught  him  in  her  arms,  kissed  him, 
held  him  off  at  arm 's-length,  and  cried.  "Are  you  ill, 
Rene?" 

"No,  no;  a  little  hurt,  not  badly.  I  have  lost 
blood,"  and  then,  tottering,  added  faintly,  "a 
wound,  a  wound,"  and  sank  to  the  floor.  She  called 
loudly  in  alarm,  and  Schmidt,  coming  in  haste  from 
his  room  and  lifting  him,  carried  him  to  his  bed 
chamber.  He  had  overestimated  his  strength  and 
his  power  of  endurance. 

Mother  and  hostess  took  possession  of  him.  Nanny 
hurried  with  the  warming-pan  for  the  bed;  and  re 
viving,  he  laughed  as  they  came  and  went,  acknow 
ledged  the  welcome  comfort  of  lavender-scented 
sheets  and  drank  eagerly  the  milk-punch  they 
brought. 

Within  an  hour  Schmidt  had  the  little  French 
surgeon  at  his  bedside,  and  soon  Rene's  face  and 
torn  thigh  were  fitly  dressed.  There  was  to  be  quiet, 
and  only  madame  or  Mrs.  Swanwick,  and  a  little 
laudanum  and  no  starvation.  They  guarded  him 
well,  and,  as  he  said,  "fiercely,"  and,  yes,  in  a  week 
he  might  see  people.  "Not  Mistress  Wynne, "  said 


THE  BED  CITY  179 

the  doctor;  "a  tornado,  that  woman:  but  Mr. 
Schmidt  and  Mr.  Wynne."  He  was  impatient 
enough  as  he  lay  abed  and  ate  greedily  wonderful 
dishes  from  Darthea  Wynne;  and  there,  from  the 
only  greenhouse  in  the  town,  were  flowers,  with  Mrs. 
Kobert  Morris's  compliments,  and  books,  the  latest, 
from  Mistress  Gainor,  ' '  for  the  hero,  please, ' '  for  by 
now  the  town  was  astir  with  Captain  Biddle's  story. 
The  German  wrote  for  him  notes  of  thanks,  but  as 
yet  would  not  talk.  He  could  wait  to  hear  of  his 
voyage. 

He  was  on  a  settle  one  morning  alone  with 
Schmidt.  There  came  a  discreet  knock  at  the  door. 
"Come  in,"  called  Schmidt,  and  Margaret  entered, 
saying:  ''These  are  the  first.  I  gathered  them  my 
self  at  Uncle  Josiah  's, ' '  from  which  it  may  be  under 
stood  that  Josiah  had  made  his  peace. 

"I  found  them  on  the  Wissahickon.  Smell  of 
them, ' '  she  said  as  she  set  her  bowl  of  fragrant  trail- 
ing-arbutus  before  him,  coloring  a  little,  and  adding : 
"Mother  said  I  must  not  stay.  We  are  glad  thou 
art  better. ' ' 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  young  man. 
The  air  of  spring,  the  youth  of  the  year,  was  in  the 
room.  As  the  door  closed  behind  Margaret,  Schmidt 
asked:  "Rene,  did  you  ever  see  the  Quaker  lady? — 
the  flower,  I  mean. ' ' 

"Yes,  once.    And  now  again.    How  she  grows !" 

"Yes,  she  does  grow,"  said  Schmidt.  "I  have  no 
ticed  that  at  her  age  young  women  grow. ' '  While  he 
spoke,  Mr.  Wynne  came  in,  a  grave,  reserved,  sturdy 
man,  in  whom  some  of  the  unemotional  serenity  of 


180  THE  BED  CITY 

his  Quaker  ancestry  became  more  notable  as  he  went 
on  into  middle  life. 

Schmidt  excused  himself,  and  Wynne  sat  down, 
saying :  ' '  You  seem  quite  yourself,  Vicomte.  I  have 
heard  the  whole  story  from  Captain  Biddle.  You 
have  made  one  more  friend,  and  a  good  one.  You 
will  be  amused  to  learn  that  the  French  party  is 
overjoyed  because  of  your  having  victualed  the 
starving  Jacobins.  The  Federals  are  as  well  pleased, 
and  all  the  ship-owners  at  the  baffling  of  the  cor 
vette.  No,,  don't  speak;  let  me  finish.  The  mer 
chants  at  the  coffee-house  have  voted  both  of  you 
tankards,  and  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  crew,  and 
what  the  women  will  say  or  do  the  Lord  knows.  You 
will  have  need  to  keep  your  head  cool  among  them  all. " 

"Ah,  Mr.  Wynne,  if  my  head  was  not  turned  by 
what  you  said  to  me  when  we  parted,  it  is  safe 
enough. ' ' 

"My  opinion  has  been  fully  justified;  but  now  for 
business.  Both  ships  are  in.  You  have  made  an 
unlooked-for  gain  for  me.  Your  share— oh,  I  shall 
take  care  of  the  captain,  too— your  share  will  be  two 
thousand  dollars.  It  is  now  in  the  bank  with  what  is 
left  of  your  deposit  with  me.  I  can  take  you  again 
as  my  clerk  or  Stephen  Girard  will  send  you  as 
supercargo  to  China.  For  the  present  I  have  said 
my  say. ' ' 

"I  thank  you,  sir.  It  is  too  much,  far  too  much. 
I  shall  go  back  to  my  work  with  you. ' ' 

"And  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you.  But  I  fear  it 
may  not  be  for  life—as  I  should  wish." 

"No,  Mr.  Wynne.     Some  day  this  confusion  in 


THE  EED  CITY  181 

France  must  end,  and  then  or  before,  though  no 
Jacobin,  I  would  be  in  the  army. ' ' 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  Wynne.  "Come  back 
now  to  me,  and  in  the  fall  or  sooner  something  better 
may  turn  up ;  but  for  a  month  or  two  take  a  holiday. 
Your  wages  will  go  on.  Now,  do  not  protest.  You 
need  the  rest,  and  you  have  earned  it."  With  this 
he  added :  ' '  And  come  out  to  Merion.  My  wife  wants 
to  thank  you;  and  madame  must  come,  too.  Have 
you  heard  that  we  are  to  have  a  new  French  minister 
in  April?" 

1 '  Indeed  ?  I  suppose  he  will  have  a  great  welcome 
from  the  Republicans. ' ' 

"Very  likely,"  said  Wynne. 

It  was  more  from  loss  of  blood  that  Rene  had  suf 
fered  than  from  the  gravity  of  the  wound.  His  re 
covery  was  rapid,  and  he  was  soon  released  from  the 
tyranny  which  woman  loves  to  establish  about  the 
sickness-fettered  man.  The  vicomtesse  had  some 
vague  regret  when  he  asserted  his  independence,  for 
again  he  had  been  a  child,  and  her  care  of  him 
a  novel  interest  in  a  life  of  stringent  beliefs,  some 
prejudices,  and  very  few  positive  sources  of  pleasure. 
The  son  at  this  time  came  to  know  her  limitations 
better  and  to  recognize  with  clearer  vision  how  nar 
row  must  always  have  been  a  life  of  small  occupa 
tions  behind  which  lay,  as  yet  unassailed,  the  pride 
of  race  and  the  more  personal  creed  of  the  obliga 
tions  of  a  caste  which  no  one,  except  Mistress  Wynne, 
ventured  to  describe  to  Schmidt  as  needing  social 
spectacles.  "A  provincial  lady,"  she  said;  "a  lady, 
but  of  the  provinces."  The  German  smiled,  which 


182  THE  EED  CITY 

was  often  his  only  comment  upon  her  shrewd  insight 
and  unguarded  talk. 

The  vicomtesse  settled  down  again  to  her  life  of 
books,  church,  and  refusals  to  go  anywhere  except  to 
Darthea  at  Merion,  where  she  relaxed  and  grew 
tender  among  the  children.  She  would  have  her 
son  go  among  gayer  people,  and  being  free  for  a 
time  he  went  as  bidden,  and  was  made  much  of  at 
the  town  houses  of  the  gay  set.  But  as  he  would  not 
play  loo  for  money,  and  grew  weary  at  last  of  the 
role  of  Othello  and  of  relating,  much  against  his  will, 
his  adventures  to  a  variety  of  attentive  Desdemonas 
who  asked  questions  about  his  life  in  France,  of 
which  he  had  no  mind  to  speak,  he  soon  returned  to 
the  more  wholesome  company  of  Schmidt  and  the 
tranquil  society  of  the  widow 's  house. 

Schmidt,  with  increasing  attachment  and  growing 
intimacy  of  relation,  began  again  the  daily  bouts 
with  the  foils,  the  long  pulls  on  the  river,  and  the 
talks  at  night  when  the  house  was  quiet  in  sleep. 

The  grave  young  Huguenot  was  rather  tired  of 
being  made  to  pass  as  a  hero,  and  sternly  refused  the 
dinners  of  the  Jacobin  clubs,  declining  to  claim  for 
himself  the  credit  of  relieving  the  Jacobin  vicomte, 
his  kinsman. 

The  more  certain  news  of  war  between  France  and 
Great  Britain  had  long  since  reached  Philadelphia, 
and  when,  one  afternoon  in  April,  Mr.  Alexander 
Hamilton,  just  come  from  a  visit  to  New  York,  ap 
peared  at  the  widow's,  he  said  to  Schmidt  that  Citi 
zen  Genet,  the  French  minister,  had  reached  Charles 
ton  in  the  Ambuscade,  a  frigate.  He  had  brought 


THE  KED  CITY  183 

commissions  for  privateers,  and  had  already  sent  out 
two,  the  Citizen  Genet  and  the  Sans  Culottes,  to 
wage  war  on  English  commerce.  The  Secretary  of 
State,  Jefferson,  had  protested  against  the  French 
consul's  condemning  prizes,  but  the  republican  Ja 
cobins,  gone  mad  with  joy,  took  sides  against  their 
leader,  and  mocked  at  the  President's  proclamation 
of  neutrality.  Such  was  his  news.  Mr.  Hamilton 
was  depressed  and  had  lost  his  usual  gaiety.  It  was 
all  bad,  very  bad.  The  man's  heart  ached  for  the 
difficulties  of  his  friend,  the  harassed  President. 

Meanwhile  imitative  folly  set  the  Jacobin  fashions 
of  long  pantaloons  and  high  boots  for  good  republi 
cans.  The  young  men  took  to  growing  mustachios. 
Tricolor  cockades  appeared  in  the  streets,  while  the 
red  cap  on  barbers'  poles  and  over  tavern  signs 
served,  with  news  of  the  massacres  in  France,  to 
keep  in  De  Courval  's  mind  the  thought  of  his  father 's 
fate.  In  the  meantime,  amid  feasts  and  clamorous 
acclaim,  Genet  came  slowly  north  with  his  staff  of 
secretaries. 

Schmidt  saw  at  this  time  how  depressed  his  young 
friend  had  become  and  felt  that  in  part  at  least  it 
was  due  to  want  of  steady  occupation.  Trying  to 
distract  him  one  evening,  he  said :  ' '  Let  us  go  to  the 
fencing  school  of  the  Comte  du  Vallon.  I  have  long 
meant  to  ask  you.  It  is  late,  but  the  emigres  go 
thither  on  a  Friday.  It  will  amuse  you,  and  you 
want  something  I  cannot  teach.  Your  defense  is 
slow,  your  attack  too  unguarded. ' ' 

"But,"  said  De  Courval,  "I  cannot  afford  lessons 
at  a  dollar.  It  is  very  well  for  Morris  and  Lloyd. ' ' 


184  THE  BED  CITY 

Schmidt  laughed.  "  I  let  the  comte  have  the  rooms 
free.  The  house  is  mine.  Yes,  I  know,  you  avoid 
the  emigres;  but  why?  Oh,  yes,  I  know  you  have 
been  busy,  and  they  are  not  all  to  your  taste,  nor  to 
mine ;  but  you  will  meet  our  bookseller  De  Mery  and 
De  Noailles,  whom  you  know,  and  you  will  like  Du 
Vallon." 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when,  hearing  foils  ringing 
and  laughter,  they  went  up-stairs  in  an  old  warehouse 
on  the  north  side  of  Dunker's  Court,  and  entered 
presently  a  large  room  amid  a  dozen  of  what  were 
plainly  French  gentlemen,  who  were  fencing  in 
pairs  and  as  merry  as  if  no  heads  of  friends  and 
kindred  were  day  by  day  falling  on  the  guillotine. 
Schmidt  knew  them  all  and  had  helped  many.  They 
welcomed  him  warmly. 

"Bon jour,  monsieur.  We  amuse  ourselves  well, 
and  forget  a  little,"  said  Du  Vallon.  "Ah,  the  Vi- 
comte  de  Courval!  Enchanted  to  see  you  here. 
Allow  me  to  present  Monsieur  de  Malerive.  He  is 
making  a  fortune  with  the  ice-cream,  but  he  conde 
scends  to  give  us  a  lesson  now  and  then.  Gentlemen, 
the  Vicomte  de  Courval."  The  foils  were  lowered 
and  men  bowed.  Scarce  any  knew  him,  but  several 
came  forward  and  said  pleasant  things,  while,  as 
they  left  to  return  to  their  fencing,  Schmidt  made 
his  brief  comments.  "That  is  the  Chevalier  Pont- 
gibaud,  Rene,— the  slight  man,— a  good  soldier  in 
the  American  war.  The  Vicomte  de  Noailles  is  a 
partner  of  Bingham. ' ' 

' '  Indeed ! ' '  said  Rene.  ' '  He  is  in  trade,  as  I  am— 
a  Noailles!" 


THE  BED  CITY  185 

"Yes;  may  you  be  as  lucky.  He  has  made  a 
fortune,  they  say." 

"Take  a  turn  with  the  marquis,"  said  Du  Vallon. 
The  marquis  taught  fencing.  De  Courval  replied, 
"With  pleasure,"  and  the  clatter  of  foils  began 
again,  while  Du  Vallon  and  Schmidt  fell  apart  into 
quiet  talk. 

"The  young  man  is  a  clerk  and  I  hear  has  won 
credit  and  money.  Bon  chien,  bonne  chasse.  Do 
you  know  his  story?  Ah,  my  sad  Avignon!  La 
Rochefoucauld  told  me  they  killed  his  father ;  but  of 
course  you  know  all  about  it. ' ' 

"No,  I  have  heard  but  little,"  said  Schmidt.  "I 
know  only  that  his  father  was  murdered.  Des  Aguil- 
liers  told  me  that;  but  as  De  Courval  has  not,  does 
not,  speak  of  it,  I  presume  him  to  have  his  reasons. 
Pray  let  us  leave  it  here. ' ' 

' '  As  you  please,  mon  ami. ' '  But  Du  Vallon  thought 
the  German  strangely  lacking  in  curiosity. 

The  time  passed  pleasantly.  De  Courval  did  bet 
ter  with  Tiernay,  who  taught  French  to  the  young 
women  and  was  in  the  shabby  splendor  of  clothes 
which,  like  their  owner,  had  seen  better  days. 

They  went  away  late.  Yes,  he  was  to  have  lessons 
from  Du  Vallon,  who  had  courteously  criticized  his 
defense  as  weak.  But  the  remedy  had  answered  the 
German's  purpose.  Here  was  something  to  learn 
which  as  yet  the  young  man  did  badly.  The  lessons 
went  on,  and  Schmidt  at  times  carried  him  away 
into  the  country  with  fowling-pieces,  and  they  came 
home  loaded  with  wood  pigeons;  and  once,  to  De 
Courval 's  joy,  from  the  Welsh  hills  with  a  bear  on 


186  THE  BED  CITY 

the  back  of  their  chaise  and  rattles  for  Pearl  from 
what  De  Courval  called  the  serpent  a  sonnettes—"& 
nice  Jacobin  snake,  Mademoiselle."  And  so  the 
quiet  life  went  on  in  the  Quaker  house  with  books, 
walks,  and  the  round  of  simple  duties,  while  the 
young  man  regained  his  former  vigor. 

The  spring  came  in  with  flowers  and  blossoms  in 
the  garden,  and,  on  the  21st  of  May,  Citizen  Genet 
was  to  arrive  in  this  year  of  '93.  The  French 
frigate  Ambuscade,  lying  in  the  river  and  hearing 
from  Chester  in  due  season,  was  to  warn  the  repub 
licans  with  her  guns  of  the  coming  of  the  minister. 

"Come,"  said  Schmidt,  as  the  casements  shook 
with  the  signal  of  three  cannon.  "Pearl  said  she 
would  like  to  see  it,  and  the  farce  will  be  good.  We 
are  going  to  be  amused ;  and  why  not  ? " 

' l  Will  Friend  de  Courval  go  with  us  ? ' '  asked  Mar 
garet.  Walks  with  the  young  woman  were  somehow 
of  late  not  so  easily  had.  Her  mother  had  constantly 
for  her  some  interfering  duties.  He  was  glad  to  go. 

At  the  signal-guns,  thousands  of  patriots  gathered 
in  front  of  the  State  House,  and  in  what  then  was 
called  the  Mall,  to  the  south  of  it.  Schmidt  and  the 
young  people  paused  on  the  skirts  of  the  noisy  crowd, 
where  were  many  full  of  liquor  and  singing  the 
"Marseillaise"  with  drunken  variations  of  the  tune. 
"A  sight  to  please  the  devil  of  laughter,"  said 
Schmidt.  ' '  There  are  saints  for  the  virtues,  why  not 
devils  for  men's  follies?  The  mischief  mill  for  the 
grinding  out  of  French  Jacobins  from  Yankee  grain 
will  not  run  long.  Let  us  go  on  around  the  Mall  and 
get  before  these  foolish  folk.  Ah,  to  insult  this  per- 


THE  RED  CITY  187 

feet  day  of  May  with  drunkenness!  Is  there  not 
enough  of  gladness  in  the  upspring  of  things  that 
men  must  crave  the  flattery  of  drink?"  He  was  in 
one  of  those  moods  when  he  was  not  always,  as  he 
said,  understandable,  and  when  his  English  took  on 
queer  ways. 

Pausing  before  the  gray  jail  at  the  corner  of  Dela 
ware,  Sixth  Street,  and  Walnut,  they  saw  the  poor 
debtors  within  thrust  out  between  the  bars  of  the 
windows  long  rods  with  bags  at  the  end  to  solicit 
alms.  Schmidt  emptied  his  pockets  of  shillings,  and 
they  went  on,  the  girl  in  horror  at  the  blasphemies  of 
those  who  got  no  coin.  Said  Schmidt :  * '  Our  friend 
Wynne  lay  there  in  the  war  for  months.  Ask 
Madam  Darthea  for  the  tale,  De  Courval.  'T  is 
pretty,  and  worth  the  ear  of  attention.  When  I 
rule  the  world  there  will  be  no  prisons.  I  knew 
them  once  too  well. ' ' 

So  rare  were  these  glimpses  of  a  life  they  knew  not 
of  that  both  young  people,  surprised,  turned  to  look 
at  him. 

"Wert  thou  in  jail,  sir?"  said  the  Pearl. 

"Did  I  say  so?  Life  is  a  jail,  my  good  Margaret; 
we  are  all  prisoners."  The  girl  understood,  and 
asked  no  more.  Crossing  the  Potter's  Field,  now 
Washington  Square,  they  leaped  over  the  brook  that 
ran  through  it  from  the  northwest. 

"Here  below  us  lie  the  dead  prisoners  of  your 
war,  Pearl.  The  jail  was  safe,  but  now  they  are 
free.  God  rest  their  souls!  There  's  room  for 
more. ' '  Scarcely  was  there  room  in  that  summer  of 
'93.  Passing  the  Bettering  House  on  Spruce  Street 


188  THE  BED  CITY 

Road,  and  so  on  and  out  to  the  Schuylkill,  they 
crossed  the  floating  bridge,  and  from  the  deep  cutting 
where  Gray's  Lane  descended  to  the  river,  climbed 
the  slope,  and  sat  down  and  waited. 

Very  soon  across  the  river  thousands  of  men 
gathered  and  a  few  women.  The  bridge  was  lined 
with  people  and  some  collected  on  the  bank  and  in 
the  lane  below  them,  on  the  west  side  of  the  stream. 

Hauterive,  the  French  consul  at  New  York,  and 
Mr.  Duponceau  and  Alexander  Dallas  of  the  Demo 
cratic  Club,  stood  near  the  water  on  the  west  end 
of  the  bridge,  waiting  to  welcome  Genet.  "I  like  it 
very  well,"  said  Schmidt ;  ''but  the  play  will  not  run 
long." 

"Oh,  they  are  coming!"  cried  Margaret.  This 
was  interesting.  She  was  curious,  excited  and 
with  her  bonnet  off,  as  De  Courval  saw,  bright-eyed, 
eager,  and  with  isles  of  color  mysteriously  passing 
over  her  face,  like  rose  clouds  at  evening. 

A  group  of  horsemen  appeared  on  the  top  of  the 
hill  above  them,  one  in  front.  "Genet,  I  suppose," 
said  De  Courval.  A  good-looking  man,  florid,  smil 
ing,  the  tricolor  on  the  hat  in  his  hand,  he  bowed  to 
right  and  left,  and  honored  with  a  special  salute 
mademoiselle,  near-by  on  the  bank.  He  had  the 
triumphant  air  of  a  very  self-conscious  conqueror. 
Cheers  greeted  him.  "Vive  la  republique!  D — : — 
George  Washington!  Hurrah  for  Citizen  Genet!" 
with  waving  of  French  flags.  He  stopped  below 
them  in  the  lane.  A  boy  in  the  long  pantaloons  of 
protest,  with  the  red  cap  of  the  republic  on  his  head, 
was  lifted  up  to  present  a  bouquet  of  three  colors 


THE  EED  CITY  189 

made  of  paper  flowers.  Citizen  Genet  gave  him  the 
fraternal  kiss  of  liberty,  and  again  the  crowd  cheered. 
"Are  these  people  crazy?"  asked  the  Quaker  maiden, 
used  to  Friends '  control  of  emotion. 

"Mad?  Yes,  a  little."  Genet  had  paused  at  the 
bridge.  Mr.  Dallas  was  making  him  welcome  to 
the  capital.  David  Rittenhouse  stood  by,  silent  in 
adoration,  his  attention  divided  between  Genet  and 
a  big  bun,  for  he  had  missed  his  dinner. 

"  It  is  all  real, ' '  said  the  German.  ' '  The  bun  doth 
equally  well  convince.  Oh,  David,  didst  thou  but 
dream  how  comic  thou  art ! ' '  Meanwhile  De  Courval 
by  turns  considered  the  fair  face  and  the  crowd,  too 
tragically  reminded  to  be,  like  Schmidt,  altogether 
amused. 

But  surely  here  indeed  was  comedy,  and  for 
many  of  this  careless  multitude  a  sad  ending  of 
politics  in  the  near  summer  months. 

The  crowd  at  the  water  's-edge  closed  around 
Genet,  while  the  group  of  four  or  five  men  on  horse 
back  who  followed  him  came  to  a  halt  on  the  road 
way  just  below  where  were  seated  Schmidt  and  his 
companions.  The  riders  looked  around  them,  laugh 
ing.  Then  one  spoke  to  a  young  secretary,  and  the 
man  thus  addressed,  turning,  took  off  his  hat  and 
bowed  low  to  the  Quaker  maid. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  cried  De  Courval,  springing  up  as 
the  attaches  moved  on.  "C 'est  Carteaux !  It  is  he ! ' ' 

Schmidt  heard  him ;  the  girl  to  the  left  of  Schmidt 
less  plainly.  "What  is  it?"  she  cried  to  De  Cour 
val.  His  face  as  she  saw  it  was  of  a  sudden  white, 
the  eyes  wide  open,  staring,  the  jaw  set,  the  hands 


190  THE  EED  CITY 

half -open,  the  figure  as  of  a  wild  creature  about  to 
leap  on  its  prey.  "Take  care!"  said  Schmidt. 
' '  Take  care !  Keep  quiet ! ' '  He  laid  a  strong  hand 
on  De  Courval's  shoulder.  "Come  away!  People 
are  looking  at  you. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes."  He  straightened,  wiping  the  sweat 
from  his  forehead. 

"Art  thou  ill?"  asked  Margaret. 

"No,  no.  I  am  glad— glad  as  never  before.  Let 
us  go.  It  will  keep.  It  will  keep."  She  looked  at 
him  with  wonder.  They  climbed  the  bank  and  went 
up  the  hill  across  the  Woodlands,  Andrew  Hamil 
ton  's  estate,  and  homeward  by  the  middle  ferry  at 
High  Street,  no  one  speaking. 

The  girl,  troubled  and  apprehensive,  walked  on, 
getting  now  and  then  from  the  bonnet's  seclusion  a 
quick  side  glance  at  a  face  a  little  flushed  and  wear 
ing  a  look  of  unwonted  satisfaction.  Schmidt  was 
as  silent  as  his  companions.  Comedy  again,  he 
thought,  and  as  ever  behind  it  the  shadow  tragedy. 
"If  I  were  that  man,  I  should  be  afraid— a  secretary 
of  this  accursed  envoy.  I  must  know  more.  Ah, 
here  is  the  other  man  behind  the  every-day  De 
Courval." 

De  Courval  went  in  and  up-stairs  to  his  room  and 
at  the  five-o'clock  supper  showed  no  sign  of  the 
storm  which  had  swept  over  him.  After  the  meal  he 
followed  his  mother,  and  as  usual  read  aloud  to  her 
a  chapter  of  the  French  Bible.  Then  at  dusk  he 
pulled  out  on  the  river,  and,  finding  refreshment  in 
a  cold  plunge,  rowed  to  shore,  returning  in  full  con 
trol  of  the  power  to  consider  with  Schmidt,  as  now 


THE  EED  CITY  191 

he  knew  he  must  do,  a  situation  not  so  simple  as  it 
seemed  when  he  set  eyes  on  his  enemy. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you,  Rene.  I  guess 
enough  to  know  this  for  a  very  grave  matter.  You 
will  want  to  tell  me. ' ' 

"I  have  often  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  but,  as  you 

may  or  may  not  know,  it  was  also  too  painful  to 

j  discuss  until  the  need  came ;  but  now  it  has  come. ' ' 

ij     "You  will  talk  to  me,  Rene,  or  not,  as  seems  the 

better  to  you. ' ' 

*  *  I  shall  speak,  and  frankly ;  but,  sir,  wait  a  little. ' ' 

Without  replying  further,  the  German  took  up  a 
book  and  read.  The  young  man  let  fall  his  head  on 
his  hands,  his  elbows  on  a  table.  He  had  tried  to 
forget,  but  now  again  with  closed  eyes  and,  with  that 
doubtful  gift  of  visual  recall  already  mentioned  he 
saw  the  great,  dimly  lighted  hall  at  Avignon,  the 
blood-stained  murderers,  the  face  of  his  father,  his 
vain  appeal.  The  tears  rained  through  his  fingers. 
He  seemed  to  hear  again :  ' '  Yvonne !  Yvonne ! ' '  and 
at  last  to  see,  with  defmiteness  sharpened  by 
the  morning 's  scene,  the  sudden  look  of  ferocity  in  a 
young  man's  face— a  man  not  much  older  than  him 
self.  He  had  thought  to  hear  from  it  a  plea  for 
mercy.  Ah,  and  to-day  he  had  seen  it  gay  with 
laughter.  One  day  it  would  not  laugh.  He  wiped 
away  tears  as  he  rose.  The  German  gentleman 
caught  him  to  his  broad  breast.  "What  is  it,  my 
son?  Ah,  I  would  that  you  were  my  son!  Let  us 
have  it  out— all  of  it.  I,  too,  have  had  my  share  of 
sorrow.  Let  me  hear,  and  tell  it  quietly.  Then  we 
can  talk.'7 


192  THE  RED  CITY 

Thus  it  came  about  that  with  a  sense  of  relief 
Rene  told  his  story  of  failing  fortunes,  of  their 
chateau  in  ruins,  and  of  how,  on  his  return  from 
Avignon,  he  had  found  his  mother  in  a  friendly  farm 
refuge.  He  told,  too,  with  entire  self-command  of 
the  tragedy  in  the  papal  city,  his  vain  pursuit  of 
Carteaux,  their  flight  to  England,  and  how  on  the 
voyage  his  mother  had  wrung  from  him  the  whole 
account  of  his  father's  death. 

''Does  she  know  his  name?"  asked  Schmidt. 

"Carteaux?  Yes.  I  should  not  have  told  it,  but 
I  did.  She  would  have  me  tell  it." 

"And  that  is  all."  For  a  little  while  the  German, 
lighting  his  pipe,  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
without  a  word.  Then  at  last,  sitting  down,  he  said : 
' '  Rene,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ? " 

4 'Kill  him." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Schmidt,  coolly;  "but— let 
us  think  a  little.  Do  you  mean  to  shoot  him  as  one 
would  a  mad  dog  1 ' ' 

' '  Certainly ;  and  why  not  1 ' ' 

"You  ask 'Why  not?'  Suppose  you  succeed ?  Of 
course  you  would  have  to  fly,  leave  your  mother  alone ; 
or,  to  be  honest  with  you,  if  you  were  arrested,  the 
death  of  this  dog  would  be,  as  men  would  look  at  it, 
the  murder  of  an  official  of  the  French  legation. 
You  know  the  intensity  of  party  feeling  here.  You 
would  be  as  sure  to  die  by  the  gallows  as  any  com 
mon  criminal;  and— there  again  is  the  mother  to 
make  a  man  hesitate. ' ' 

' '  That  is  all  true ;  but  what  can  I  do,  sir  ?  Must 
I  sit  down  and  wait  f ' ' 


THE  EED  CITY  193 

"For  the  present,  yes.  Opinion  will  change. 
Time  is  the  magician  of  opportunities.  The  man 
will  be  here  long.  W.ait.  Go  back  to  your  work. 
Say  nothing.  There  are,  of  course,  the  ordinary 
ways— a  quarrel,  a  duel—" 

"Yes,  yes;  anything— something— " 

"Anything— something,  yes,;  but  what  thing? 
You  must  not  act  rashly.  Leave  it  to  me  to  think 
over;  and  promise  me  to  do  nothing  rash— to  do 
nothing  in  fact  just  yet." 

De  Courval  saw  only  too  clearly  that  his  friend 
was  wiser  than  he.  After  a  moment  of  silence  he 
said:  "I  give  you  my  word,  sir.  And  how  can  I 
thank  you  ? ' ' 

"By  not  thanking  me,  not  a  rare  form  of  thanks. 
Now  go  to  bed. ' ' 

When  alone,  Schmidt  said  to  himself :  c '  Some  day 
he  will  lose  his  head,  and  then  the  tiger  will  leap. 
It  was  clear  from  what  I  saw,  and  who  could  sit 
quiet  and  give  it  up  ?  Not  I.  A  duel  ?  If  this  man 
I  have  learned  to  love  had  Du  Vallon's  wrist  of  steel 
or  mine,  it  would  be  easy  to  know  what  to  do.  Ah, 
if  one  could  know  that  rascal's  fence— or  if  I— no; 
the  boy  would  never  forgive  me ;  and  to  cheat  a  man 
out  of  a  just  vengeance  were  as  bad  as  to  cheat  him 
of  a  woman's  love."  As  for  killing  a  man  with 
whom  he  had  no  personal  quarrel,  the  German,  un- 
reproached  by  conscience,  considered  the  matter  en 
tirely  in  his  relation  to  De  Courval.  And  here,  as  he 
sat  in  thought,  even  a  duel  troubled  him,  and  it  was 
sure  to  come ;  for  soon  or  late,  in  the  limited  society 
of  the  city,  these  two  men  would  meet.  He  was 

13 


194  THE  EED  CITY 

deeply  disturbed.  An  accident  to  De  Courval  was 
possible ;  well,  perhaps  his  death.  He  foresaw  even 
this  as  possible,  since  duels  in  that  time  were  not  the 
serio-comic  encounters  of  the  French  duel  of  to-day. 

As  Schmidt  sat  in  self-counsel  as  to  what  was 
advisable  he  felt  with  curious  joy  that  his  affection 
for  the  young  noble  was  disturbing  his  judgment  of 
what  as  a  gentleman  he  would  have  advised.  The 
situation  was,  as  he  saw,  of  terrible  significance.  A 
large  experience  of  men  and  events  failed  to  assist 
him  to  see  his  way. 

No  less  bewildered  and  even  more  deeply  troubled, 
De  Courval  lay  awake,  and,  as  the  hours  went  by, 
thought  and  thought  the  thing  over  from  every  point 
of  view.  Had  he  met  Carteaux  that  morning  alone, 
away  from  men,  he  knew  that  he  would  have  throt 
tled  the  slighter  man  with  his  strong  young  hands, 
glad  of  the  joy  of  brute  contact  and  of  personal  in 
fliction  of  the  death  penalty  with  no  more  merciful 
weapon  than  his  own  strength.  He  thrilled  at  the 
idea;  but  Schmidt,  coldly  reasonable,  had  brought 
him  down  to  the  level  of  common-sense  appre 
ciation  of  unregarded  difficulties.  His  mother! 
He  knew  her  now  far  better  than  ever.  His  mother 
would  say,  "Go,  my  son."  She  would  send  him  out 
to  take  his  chances  with  this  man,  as  for  centuries 
the  women  of  her  race  had  sent  their  men  to  battle. 
He  was  more  tender  for  her  than  she  would  be  for 
herself.  His  indecision,  the  product  of  a  larger  duty 
to  her  lonely,  helpless  life,  increased  by  what 
Schmidt  had  urged,  left  him  without  a  helpful 
thought,  while  ever  and  ever  in  the  darkness  he  felt, 


THE  EED  CITY  195 

as  his  friend  had  felt,  that  in  some  moment  of 
opportune  chance  he  should  lose  for  her  and  himself 
all  thought  of  consequences. 

Perhaps  of  those  who  saw  the  episode  of  sudden 
passionate  anger  in  Gray 's  Lane  none  was  more  puz~ 
zled  and  none  more  curious  than  Margaret  Swan- 
wick.  Anything  as  abrupt  and  violent  as  De  Cour- 
val's  irritation  was  rare  in  her  life  of  tranquil  ex 
periences,  and  nothing  she  had  seen  of  him  prepared 
her  for  this  outbreak.  Of  late,  it  is  to  be  confessed,  De 
Courval  had  been  a  frequent  guest  of  her  thoughts, 
and  what  concerned  him  began  greatly  to  concern 
her.  Something  forbade  her  to  ask  of  Schmidt  an 
explanation  of  what  she  had  seen.  Usually  she  was 
more  frank  with  him  than  with  any  one  else,  and 
why  now,  she  thought,  should  she  not  question  him  ? 
But  then,  as  if  relieved  by  the  decision,  she  con 
cluded  that  it  was  not  her  business,  and  put  aside 
the  curiosity,  but  not  completely  the  anxiety  which 
lay  behind  it. 

If  she  told  her  mother  and  asked  of  her  what 
De  Courval's  behavior  might  have  meant,  she  was 
sure  that  her  eagerness  would  be  reproved  by  a 
phrase  which  Mrs.  Swanwick  used  on  fitting  occa 
sions—'  '  Thou  shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor 's  secrets. ' ' 
Many  things  were  to  happen  before  the  girl  would 
come  to  understand  why,  in  the  quiet  of  a  May 
morning,  a  rather  reserved  gentleman  had  of  a 
sudden  looked  like  a  wild  animal. 


XIII 

A  CHEERING  crowd  escorted  Genet  to  Oeller's 
*L\.  Hotel.  A  few  days  later  Washington  received 
the  minister,  De  Ternant's  successor,  with  a  coldly 
formal  speech,  and  the  envoy  came  away  in  wrath; 
for  had  he  not  seen  in  the  parlor  of  the  President, 
medallions  of  decapitated  Citizen  Capet  and  his 
family?  His  insolent  demands  for  money  owing  to 
France,  but  not  yet  due,  and  for  a  new  and  more 
liberal  compact,  are  matters  of  history.  There  were 
wild  claims  for  the  right  of  French  consuls  to  con 
demn  prizes  without  intermediation  of  our  courts, 
and  yet  more  and  more  absurd  requests  and  specious 
arguments,  to  which  Jefferson  replied  with  decision, 
but  with  more  tenderness  than  pleased  the  Feder 
alists. 

When  the  privateer  Citizen  Genet  anchored  off 
Market  Street  wharf,  two  enlisted  Americans  on 
board  were  arrested,  and  the  cabinet,  being  of  one 
opinion,  the  President  ordered  the  privateer  to  leave. 
Genet  appealed  to  the  Secretary  of  State  for  delay 
and  against  this  inconceivable  wrong  to  a  sister  re 
public,  and  as  the  cabinet  remained  firm,  and  the 
democrats  raged,  the  town  was  for  days  on  the  verge 
of  riot  and  bloodshed. 

On  the  27th  of  May,  while  on  an  errand  for  Mr. 
Wynne,  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  De  Courval 

196 


THE  RED  CITY  197 

saw  the  crowd  going  into  Oeller's  Hotel  for  a  great 
dinner  in  honor  of  Genet.  On  the  steps  stood  a  man 
waving  the  tricolor.  It  was  Carteaux.  "Non 
Dieu!"  murmured  De  Courval,  "shall  I  get  used  to 
it?"  His  errand  took  him  past  the  house  of  the 
Vice-President,  John  Adams.  Servants  and  friends 
were  carrying  in  muskets.  A  noisy  mob  hooted  and 
drifted  away  to  Oeller's.  There  had  been  threats 
of  destroying  the  house,  and  Adams  meant  to  be 
ready.  The  young  man  went  on  deep  in  thought. 
In  front  of  the  Senate  House  he  bowed  to  Edmund 
Randolph,  an  occasional  visitor  at  the  Quaker  salon 
and  now  Attorney- General  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
eight. 

Returning,  De  Courval  met  Stephen  Girard,  who 
stopped  him.  Short,  sallow,  a  little  bald,  and  still 
slight  of  build,  he  was  watching  with  a  look  of 
amusement  the  noisy  mob  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
"Ah,  ~bonjour,  monsieur.  And  you  would  not  go  as 
my  supercargo.  It  is  open  for  the  asking."  He 
spoke  French  of  course.  "These  yonder  are  chil 
dren,  but  they  are  not  as  serious  as  th«y  think  them 
selves.  Come  this  afternoon  to  my  farm  on  the 
neck  and  eat  of  my  strawberries.  There  will  be 
the  French  consul-general  and  the  secretary  Car 
teaux.  No  politics,  mind  you.  My  heart  is  with  the 
revolutionary  government  at  home,  but  my  politics 
in  America  are  here,"  and  he  struck  his  breeches' 
pocket.  "I  am  not  for  war,  monsieur." 

De  Courval  excused  himself,  and  went  away  mur 
muring  : ' '  Again,  again !  It  must  end.  I  must  make 
it  end.  Ah,  mother,  mother!" 


198  THE  EED  CITY 

Schmidt,  troubled  by  the  young  man's  gloom  and 
loss  of  spirits,  did  all  he  could,  but  characteristically 
made  no  effort  to  reopen  a  subject  on  which  he  had 
as  yet  reached  no  other  decision  than  the  counsel  of 
delay. 

The  mother  questioned  her  son.  It  was  nothing. 
He  was  not  quite  well,  and  the  heat  of  July  was 
great.  The  German  was  yet  more  disturbed  when 
one  evening  after  the  fencing  lesson  Du  Vallon 
said:  "I  had  here  to-day  two  of  the  staff  of  that 
sacre  Citizen  Genet.  There  is  already  talk  of  his 
recall  for  insolence  to  the  President.  Le  bon  Dieu 
be  praised!" 

"Why,  Marquis,  do  you  permit  these  cattle  to 
come  here  ? ' ' 

1 1  One  must  live,  Monsieur  Schmidt. ' ' 

"Perhaps." 

"One  of  them  is  a  pleasure  to  fence  with— a  Mon 
sieur  Carteaux,  a  meager  Jacobin.  I  could  not  touch 
him." 

"I  should  like  to,  with  the  buttons  off  the  foils," 
said  Schmidt. 

' '  I  also.    That  does  make  a  difference. ' ' 

Schmidt  went  away  thoughtful.  The  next  after 
noon,  feeling  the  moist  heat,  the  vicomtesse  went  to 
Darthea  at  Merion.  The  two  men  fenced  as  usual, 
while  mother  and  daughter  sat  in  shadow  on  the 
porch,  and  a  faint,  cool  air  came  up  from  the  river. 

"Ach,  du  lieber  Himmel!  but  it  is  hot!"  cried  the 
German,  casting  down  his  foil.  "You  are  doing 
better.  Let  us  go  and  cool  off  in  the  river.  Come. ' ' 

They  went   down  the  garden,   picking  the   ripe 


THE  BED  CITY  199 

plums  as  they  went.  "What  is  wrong  with  you, 
Rene  1  You  promised  me. ' ' 

"It  is  the  heat.  Miss  Margaret  looks  ill.  No  one 
could  endure  it,  and  in  the  counting-house  it  is 
dreadful,  and  with  no  work  to  distract  me. ' ' 

"The  Pearl  goes  again  to  Gray  Court  to-morrow/' 
said  the  German. 

"Indeed." 

"Yes.  I  shall  miss  her,  but  it  is  as  well.  And, 
you,  Rene— it  is  not  the  heat.  Why  do  you  put  me 
off  with  such  excuses  ? ' ' 

"Well,  no.  It  is  of  course  that  villain,"  and  he 
told  of  Girard  and  the  invitation. 

"Rene,  a  day  will  come  when  you  will  meet  that 
man,  and  then  the  thing  will  somehow  end.  You 
cannot  go  on  suffering  as  you  are  doing." 

' '  I  know ;  but  a  devil  of  indecision  pursues  me. ' ' 

"An  angel,  perhaps." 

' '  Oh,  yes.  Pity  me.  My  mother  stands  like  a  wall 
I  may  not  pass  between  me  and  him.  It  is  horrible 
to  think  that  she— she  is  protecting  my  father's 
murderer.  If  I  told  her,  by  Heaven !  she  would  bid 
me  go  and  kill  him.  You  do  not  know  her.  She 
would  do  it;  but,  then,  who  knows  what  might 
chance?  If  I  die,  she  is  alone,  friendless.  I  fear 
to  risk  it.  Mon  Dieu,  sir,  I  am  afraid ! ' ' 

"And  yet  some  day  you  will  have  to  put  an  end 
to  all  this  doubt.  Comfort  yourself  with  this :  Fate, 
which  plays  with  us  will  take  you  in  hand.  Let  it 
go  just  now." 

"I  will  try  to.  I  will.  If  I  were  as  these  good 
Quakers— ah,  me,  I  should  sit  down,"— and  he 


200  THE  BED  CITY 

smiled,— "  and  thee  and  thou  Providence,  and  be 
quiet  in  the  armor  of  meek  unresistance. ' ' 

"They  do  kill  flies,"  said  the  German. 

"Ah,  I  wish  then  they  would  attend  to  the 
mosquitos, ' '  cried  De  Courval,  laughing. 

"As  to  non-resistance,  friend,  it  hath  its  limita 
tions.  Did  I  tell  thee  of  Daniel  Offley?  My  Pearl 
told  me,"  and  he  related  the  defeat  of  the  black 
smith. 

"Insolent,"  said  Rene. 

"No;  the  man  believed  that  he  had  a  mission.  I 
should  like  to  have  his  conscience  for  a  week  or  two, 
to  see  how  it  feels;  and,  as  for  non-resistance,  canst 
thou  keep  a  secret  ? ' ' 

"I?  Why  not?  What  is  it?"  He  was  curious. 
As  they  talked,  standing  beside  the  river,  Rene 
watched  the  flat  stones  he  threw  ricochet  on  the  water. 

"Once  on  a  time,  as  they  say  in  Madame  Swan- 
wick's  book  of  sixty-five  tales,  by  Nancy  Skyrin,  a 
man,  one  Schmidt,  came  into  the  dining-room  and 
sat  down  quietly  to  read  at  an  open  window  for  the 
sake  of  the  breeze  from  the  river.  It  might  have 
been  on  Second  Day.  It  chanced  to  be  the  same 
time  a  Quaker  man  who  hath  of  late  come  often  sat 
without  on  the  step  of  the  porch,  a  proper  lad,  and 
young,  very  neat  in  gray.  Near  by  sat  a  maid. 
Up  from  the  river  came  the  little  god  who  is  of  all 
religions  and  did  tempt  the  young  man.  The  man 
within  lost  interest  in  his  book." 

Then  Rene  gave  up  the  game  of  skip-stone,  and, 
turning,  said,  "Mon  Dieu,  you  did  not  listen?" 

"Did  he  not?    He  had  listened  to  the  talk  in  the 


THE  BED  CITY  201 

book,  and  wherefore  not  to  them?  It  amused  him 
more.  For  a  little  the  maid  did  not  seem  greatly 
displeased. ' ' 

' '  She  did  not  seem  displeased  ? ' ' 

"No.  And  then— and  then  that  Friend  who  was 
perverted  into  a  lover  would  brusquer  matters,  as 
you  say,  and  did  make  a  venture,  being  tempted  by 
the  little  devil  called  Cupid.  The  man  who  listened 
did  not  see  it,  but  it  does  seem  probable  she  was 
kissed,  because  thereupon  was  heard  a  resounding 
smack,  and  feeling  that  here  had  been  a  flagrant  de 
parture  from  non-resistance,  the  man  within,  having 
been  satisfactorily  indiscreet,  fell  to  reading  again 
and  the  Quaker  went  away  doubly  wounded.  Dost 
thou  like  my  story,  Friend  de  Courval  ? ' ' 

"No,  I  do  not."    He  was  flushing,  angry. 

' '  I  told  you  I  had  no  conscience. ' ' 

"Upon  my  word,  I  believe  you.  Why  did  you  not 
kick  him?" 

' '  I  leave  you  the  privilege. ' ' 

"Come.  I  hate  your  story,"— and  laughing,  de 
spite  his  wrath,— "your  conscience  needs  a  bath." 

'  *  Perhaps. ' '  And  they  went  down  to  the  boat,  the 
German  still  laughing. 

"What  amuses  you?" 

"Nothing.  Nothing  amuses  one  as  much  as  noth 
ing.  I  should  have  been  a  diplomatist  at  the  court 
of  Love. ' '  And  to  himself :  "  Is  it  well  for  these  chil 
dren?  Here  is  another  tangle,  and  if— if  anything 

should  go  amiss  here  are  three  sad  hearts.  D 

the  Jacobin  cur !  I  ought  to  kill  him.  That  would 
settle  things." 


202  THE  KED  CITY 

For  many  days  De  Courval  saw  nothing  of  his 
enemy.  Schmidt,  who  owned  many  houses  and  mort 
gages  and  good  irredeemable  ground  rents,  was  busy. 

Despite  the  fear  of  foreign  war  and  the  rage  of 
parties,  the  city  was  prosperous  and  the  increase  of 
chariots,  coaches,  and  chaises  so  great  as  to  cause 
remark.  House  rents  rose,  the  rich  of  the  gay  set 
drank,  danced,  gambled,  and  ran  horses  on  the  road 
we  still  call  Race  Street.  Wages  were  high.  All 
the  wide  land  felt  confidence,  and  speculation  went 
on,  for  the  poor  in  lotteries,  for  the  rich  in  impossi 
ble  canals  never  to  see  water. 

On  August  6  of  this  fatal  year  '93,  Uncle  Josiah 
came  to  fetch  the  Pearl  away  for  a  visit,  and,  glad 
as  usual  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news,  told  Schmidt 
that  a  malignant  fever  had  killed  a  child  of  Dr. 
Hodge  and  three  more.  It  had  come  from  the  Sans 
Culottes,  privateer,  or  because  of  damaged  coffee 
fetched  from  he  knew  not  where. 

The  day  after,  Dr.  Redman,  President  of  the  Col 
lege  of  Physicians,  was  of  opinion  that  this  was  the 
old  disease  of  1762— the  yellow  plague.  Schmidt 
listened  in  alarm.  Before  the  end  of  August  three 
hundred  were  dead,  almost  every  new  case  being 
fatal.  On  August  20,  Schmidt  was  gone  for  a  day. 
On  his  return  at  evening  he  said :  "  I  have  rented  a 
house  on  the  hill  above  the  Falls  of  Schuylkill.  We 
move  out  to-morrow.  I  know  this  plague.  El  vomito 
they  call  it  in  the  West  Indies. ' ' 

Mrs.  Swanwick  protested. 

"No,"  he  said;  "I  must  have  my  way.  You  have 
cared  for  me  in  sickness  and  health  these  five  years. 


THE  BED  CITY  203 

Now  it  is  my  turn.  This  disease  will  pass  along  the 
water-front.  You  are  not  safe  an  hour."  She  gave 
way  to  his  wishes  as  usual,  and  next  day  they  were 
pleasantly  housed  in  the  country. 

Business  ceased  as  if  by  agreement,  and  the  richer 
families,  if  not  already  in  the  country,  began  to  flee. 
The  doom  of  a  vast  desertion  and  of  multiplying 
deaths  fell  on  the  gay  and  prosperous  city.  By 
September  10  every  country  farm  was  crowded  with 
fugitives,  and  tents  received  thousands  along  the 
Schuylkill  and  beyond  it.  Sooner  or  later  some 
twenty-three  thousand  escaped,  and  whole  families 
camped  in  the  open  air  and  in  all  weather.  More 
would  have  gone  from  the  city,  but  the  shops  were 
shut,  money  ceased  to  circulate,  and  even  the  middle 
class  lacked  means  to  flee.  Moreover,  there  was  no 
refuge  open,  since  all  the  towns  near  by  refused  to 
receive  even  those  who  could  afford  to  leave.  Hence 
many  stayed  who  would  gladly  have  gone. 

Madame  de  Courval  was  at  Merion,  and  Margaret 
had  now  rejoined  her  mother,  brought  over  by  her 
uncle.  He  had  ventured  into  the  city  and  seen  Mat 
thew  Clarkson,  the  mayor,  on  business.  He  would 
talk  no  business.  "Terrible  time,"  said  Josiah— 
"terrible!  Not  a  man  will  do  business."  Did  he 
feel  for  these  dying  and  the  dead  ?  Schmidt  doubted 
it,  and  questioned  him  quietly.  The  doctors  were  not 
agreed,  and  Rush  bled  every  one.  He,  Josiah,  was 
not  going  back.  Half  a  dozen  notes  he  held  had  been 
protested;  a  terrible  calamity,  but  fine  for  debtors; 
a  neat  excuse. 

Mr.  Wynne  had  closed  his  counting-house,  and 


204  THE  BED  CITY 

was  absent  on  the  Ohio,  and  De  Courval  was  left  to 
brood;  for  now  the  French  legation  had  gone  to  the 
country,  the  cabinet  fled  to  Germantown,  and  the 
President  long  before  to  Mount  Vernon  for  his  sum 
mer  rest. 

The  day  after  Josiah's  visit,  Schmidt  left  a  letter 
on  Mrs.  Swanwick's  table,  and  rode  away  to  town 
without  other  farewell. 

"Look  at  that,  my  friend,"  said  the  widow  to 
Rene,  and  burst  into  tears.  He  read  and  re-read  the 
letter: 

DEAR  MADAM  :  The  city  has  no  nurses,  and  help  is  needed, 
and  money.  I  have  a  note  from  Girard.  He  has  what 
Wetherill  once  described  as  the  courage  of  the  penny,  not 
the  cowardice  of  the  dollar.  I  go  to  help  him,  for  how  long 
I  know  not,  and  to  do  what  I  can.  My  love  to  my  friend 
Rene.  I  shall  open  your  house.  I  have  taken  the  key.  I 
shall  write  when  I  can.  I  leave  in  my  desk  money.  Use 
it.  I  owe  what  no  money  can  ever  repay. 

I  am,  as  always,  your  obedient,  humble  servant, 

J.  S. 

There  was  consternation  in  the  home  and  at  Mer- 
ion,  where  he  was  a  favorite,  and  at  the  Hill,  which 
Gainor  had  filled  with  guests;  but  day  after  day 
went  by  without  news.  No  one  would  carry  letters. 
Few  would  even  open  those  from  the  city.  The 
flying  men  and  women  told  frightful  stories.  And 
now  it  was  September.  Two  weeks  had  gone  by 
without  a  word  from  Schmidt.  The  "National  Ga 
zette"  was  at  an  end,  and  the  slanderer  Freneau 
gone.  Only  one  newspaper  still  appeared,  and  the 
flight  went  on :  all  fled  who  could. 


THE  EED  CITY  205 

At  length  De  Courval  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
He  had  no  horse,  and  set  off  afoot  to  see  his  mother 
at  Merion,  saying  nothing  of  his  intention  to  Mrs. 
Swanwick.  He  learned  that  Wynne  was  still  on 
the  Ohio;  ignorant  of  the  extent  of  the  calamity 
at  home. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "again  I  must  go  into  danger. 
Mr.  Schmidt  has  gone  to  the  city  to  care  for  the  sick. 
For  two  weeks  we  have  been  without  news  of  him. 
I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  I  must  go  and  see  what  has 
become  of  him. ' ' 

"Well,  and  why,  my  son,  should  you  risk  your 
life  for  a  man  of  whom  you  know  nothing?  When 
before  you  said  it  was  a  call  of  duty  I  bade  you  go. 
Now  I  will  not. ' ' 

"Mother,  for  a  time  we  lived  on  that  man's  gen 
erous  bounty. ' ' 

"What!"  she  cried. 

"Yes.  It  was  made  possible  for  me  because  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  save  him  from  drowning.  I  did 
not  tell  you. ' ' 

"No,  of  course  not." 

He  told  briefly  the  story  of  his  rescue  of  the 
German. 

"If  he  is  well,  I  must  know  it.  He  is  more  than 
merely  my  friend.  If  he  is  ill,  I  must  care  for  him. 
If  he  is  dead— oh,  dear  mother,  I  must  go !" 

"I  forbid  it  absolutely.  If  you  go,  it  is  against 
my  will. ' ' 

He  saw  that  she  meant  it.  It  was  vain  to  protest. 
He  rose. 

"I  have  no  time  to  lose,  mother.  Pray  for  me." 


206  THE  BED  CITY 

"That  I  do  always,  but  I  shall  not  forgive  you; 
no— yes,  kiss  me.  I  did  not  mean  that;  but  think 
of  my  life,  of  yours,  what  it  owes  me.  You  will  not 
go,  my  son." 

"Yes,  I  am  going.  I  should  be  base,  a  coward,  un 
grateful,  if  I  did  not  go.  Good-by,  mother.  Let 
them  know  at  Mrs.  Swanwick  's. ' ' 

He  was  gone.  She  sat  still  a  little  while,  and  then 
rising,  she  looked  out  and  saw  him  go  down  the 
garden  path,  a  knapsack  on  his  back. 

"His  father  would  never  have  left  me.  Ah,  but 
he  is  my  son— all  of  him.  He  was  right  to  go,  and  I 
was  weak,  but,  my  God,  life  is  very  hard ! ' '  For  a 
moment  she  looked  after  his  retreating  figure,  and 
then,  fearless,  quiet,  and  self-contained,  took  up 
again  the  never-finished  embroidery. 


XIV 

IN  the  summer  of  1793,  the  city  of  Penn  num 
bered  forty-five  thousand  souls,  and  lay  in  the 
form  of  an  irregularly  bounded  triangle,  the  apex 
being  about  seven  squares,  as  we  say,  west  of  the 
Delaware.  From  this  it  spread  eastward,  widening 
until  the  base,  thinly  builded  with  shops,  homes,  and 
warehouses,  extended  along  the  Delaware  River  a 
distance  of  about  two  miles  from  Callowhill  Street 
to  Cedar.  It  was  on  the  parts  nearest  to  the  river 
that  the  death-cloud  lay. 

De  Courval  had  walked  from  the  Falls  of  Schuyl- 
kill  late  in  the  morning,  and,  after  having  been  fer 
ried  across  the  Schuylkill,  passed  by  forest  and  farm 
roads  over  a  familiar,  rolling  country,  and  arrived 
at  Merion,  in  the  Welsh  barony,  where  he  parted 
from  his  mother.  To  this  distance  he  was  now  to 
add  the  seven  miles  which  would  bring  him  to  the 
city. 

He  soon  reached  the  Lancaster  road,  and  after 
securing  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  for  which  he  paid 
the  exorbitant  price  of  two  shillings  at  a  farm-house, 
he  lay  down  in  the  woods  and,  lighting  his  meer 
schaum  pipe,  rested  during  the  early  afternoon,  glad 
of  shelter  from  the  moist  heat  of  the  September  day. 

He  had  much  to  think  about.  His  mother  he  dis 
missed,  smiling.  If,  after  what  he  had  said,  he  had 

207 


208  THE  EED  CITY 

not  obeyed  the  call  of  duty  and  gratitude,  he  knew 
full  well  that  she  would  have  been  surprised,  despite 
her  protests  and  the  terror  with  which  his  errand 
filled  her.  He,  too,  felt  it,  for  it  is  the  form  which 
peril  takes  rather  than  equality  of  risk  which  makes 
disease  appal  many  a  man  for  whom  war  has  the 
charm  which  awakens  the  lust  of  contest,  and  not 
such  alarm  as  the  presence  of  the  unseen  foe  which 
gives  no  quarter.  He  dismissed  his  fears  with  a 
silent  appeal  for  strength  and  support. 

He  thought  then  of  his  enemy.  Where  was  he? 
This  pestilence,  the  inexplicable  act  of  an  all-power 
ful  God,  had  for  a  time  been  set  as  a  barrier  between 
him  and  his  foe.  If  either  he  or  Carteaux  died  of 
it,  there  was  an  end  of  all  the  indecisions  that  affec 
tion  had  put  in  his  way.  He  had  a  moral  shock  at 
the  idea  that  he  was  unwilling  to  believe  it  well  that 
the  will  of  God  should  lose  him  the  fierce  joy  of  a 
personal  vengeance.  How  remote  seemed  such  a 
feeling  from  the  religious  calm  of  the  Quaker  home ! 
And  then  a  rosy  face,  a  slight,  gray-clad  figure, 
came  before  him  with  the  clearness  of  visual  per 
ception  which  was  one  of  his  mental  peculiarities. 
The  sense  of  difference  of  rank  which  his  mother  had 
never  lost,  and  would  never  lose,  he  had  long  since 
put  aside.  Margaret 's  refinement,  her  young  beauty, 
her  gay  sweetness,  her  variety  of  charm,  he  recalled 
as  he  lay;  nor  against  these  was  there  for  him  any 
available  guard  of  common  sense,  that  foe  of  im 
prudent  love,  to  sum  up  the  other  side  with  the 
arithmetic  of  worldly  wisdom.  He  rose,  disturbed  a 
little  at  the  consciousness  of  a  power  beginning  to 


THE  BED  CITY  209 

get  beyond  his  control,  and  went  on  his  way  down  the 
long,  dusty  road,  refreshed  by  the  fair  angel  com 
pany  of  Love  and  Longing. 

Very  soon  he  was  recalled  from  his  dreams.  As 
he  came  within  a  mile  of  the  city,  he  saw  tents  as  for 
an  army,  camp-fires,  people  cooking,  men,  women, 
and  children  lying  about  by  the  roadside  and  in  the 
orchards  or  the  woods.  Two  hungry-looking  me 
chanics  begged  help  of  him.  He  gave  them  each  a 
shilling  and  went  on.  The  nearer  shore  of  the  quiet 
Schuylkill  was  lined  with  tents.  Over  the  middle- 
ferry  floating  bridge  came  endlessly  all  manner  of 
vehicles  packed  with  scared  people,  the  continuous 
drift  from  town  of  all  who  could  afford  to  fly,  a 
pitiful  sight  in  the  closing  day.  Beyond  the  river 
were  more  tents  and  half -starved  families. 

At  dusk,  as  he  went  eastward  on  Market  Street, 
there  were  fewer  people,  and  beyond  Sixth  Street 
almost  none.  The  taverns  were  closed.  Commerce 
was  at  an  end.  Turning  south,  he  crossed  the  bridge 
over  Dock  Creek  at  Second  Street  and  was  soon  in 
a  part  of  the  city  where  death  and  horror  had  left 
only  those  whom  disease,  want  of  means,  or  some 
stringent  need,  forbade  to  leave  their  homes. 
Twenty-four  thousand  then  or  later  fled  the  town. 
A  gallant  few  who  could  have  gone,  stayed  from  a 
sense  of  duty. 

Exposure  at  night  was  said  to  be  fatal,  so  that  all 
who  could  were  shut  up  indoors,  or  came  out  in 
fear  only  to  feed  with  pitch  and  fence  palings  the 
fires  kindled  in  the  streets  which  were  supposed  to 
give  protection,  but  were  forbidden  later.  A  canopy 

14 


210  THE  RED  CITY 

of  rank  tar-smoke  hung  over  the  town  and  a  dull, 
ruddy  glow  from  these  many  fires.  Grass  grew 
in  the  roadway  of  the  once  busy  street,  and  strange 
silence  reigned  where  men  were  used  to  move  amid 
the  noises  of  trade.  As  he  walked  on  deep  in 
thought,  a  woman  ran  out  of  a  house,  crying :  '  *  They 
are  dead!  All  are  dead!"  She  stopped  him.  "Is 
my  baby  dead,  too  ? ' ' 

"I— I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
wasted,  yellow  face  of  the  child  in  her  arms.  She 
left  it  on  the  pavement,  and  ran  away  screaming. 
He  had  never  in  his  life  touched  the  dead ;  but  now, 
though  with  repugnance,  he  picked  up  the  little  body 
and  laid  it  on  a  door-step.  Was  it  really  dead!  he 
asked  himself.  He  stood  a  minute  looking  at  the 
corpse;  then  he  touched  it.  It  was  unnaturally 
hot,  as  are  the  dead  of  this  fever.  Not  seeing  well 
in  the  dusk,  and  feeling  a  strange  responsibility,  he 
laid  a  hand  on  the  child's  heart.  It  was  still.  He 
moved  away  swiftly  through  the  gathering  gloom 
of  deserted  streets.  On  Front  Street,  near  Lombard, 
a  man,  seeing  him  approach,  ran  from  him  across  the 
way.  A  little  farther,  the  sense  of  solitude  and 
loneliness  grew  complete  as  the  night  closed  dark 
about  him.  He  had  been  long  on  his  way. 

A  half -naked  man  ran  out  of  an  alley  and,  stand 
ing  before  him,  cried :  ' '  The  plague  is  come  upon  us 
because  they  have  numbered  the  people.  Death! 
death !  you  will  die  for  this  sin. ' '  The  young  man, 
thus  halted,  stood  appalled  and  then  turned  to  look 
after  the  wild  prophet  of  disaster,  who  ran  up  Lom 
bard  Street,  his  sinister  cries  lost  as  he  disappeared 


THE  BED  CITY  211 

in  the  gloom.  Rene  recalled  that  somewhere  in 
the  Bible  he  had  read  of  how  a  plague  had  come  on 
the  Israelites  for  having  numbered  the  people.  Long 
afterward  he  learned  that  a  census  of  Philadelphia 
had  been  taken  in  1792.  He  stood  still  a  moment  in 
the  gloom,  amid  the  silence  of  the  deserted  city  and 
then  of  a  sudden  moved  rapidly  onward. 

He  had  reached  the  far  edge  of  the  town,  his  mind 
upon  Schmidt,  when  he  saw  to  his  surprise  by  the 
glow  of  a  dying  fire  a  familiar  form.  "Mr. 
Girard!"  he  cried,  in  pleased  surprise;  for  in  the 
country  little  was  as  yet  known  of  the  disregard  of 
death  with  which  this  man  and  many  more  were 
quietly  nursing  the  sick  and  keeping  order  in  a  town 
where,  except  the  comparatively  immune  negroes, 
few  aided,  and  where  the  empty  homes  were  being 
plundered.  The  quick  thought  passed  through 
Rene's  mind  that  he  had  heard  this  man  called  an 
atheist  by  Daniel  Offley. 

He  said  to  Girard:  "Ah,  Monsieur,  have  you 
seen  Monsieur  Schmidt?" 

"Not  for  three  days.  He  has  been  busy  as  the 
best.  There  is  one  man  who  knows  not  fear.  Where 
is  he,  Vicomte  1 ' ' 

"We  do  not  know.  We  have  heard  nothing  since 
he  left  us  two  weeks  ago.  But  he  meant  to  live  in 
Mrs.  Swanwick  's  house. ' ? 

"Let  us  go  and  see,"  said  Girard;  and  with  the 
man  who  already  counted  his  wealth  in  millions 
Rene  hurried  on.  At  the  house  they  entered  easily, 
for  the  door  was  open,  and  went  up-stairs. 

In  Schmidt's  room,  guided  by  his  delirious  cries, 


212  THE  BED  CITY 

they  found  him.  Girard  struck  a  light  from  his  steel 
and  flint,  and  presently  they  had  candles  lighted, 
and  saw  the  yellow  face,  and  the  horrors  of  the 
vomito,  in  the  disordered  room. 

"Mon  Dieu!  but  this  is  sad!"  said  Girard.  "Ah, 
the  brave  gentleman !  You  will  stay  ?  I  shall  send 
you  milk  and  food  at  once.  Give  him  water  freely, 
and  the  milk.  Bathe  him.  Are  you  afraid  ? ' ' 

"I— yes;  but  I  came  for  this,  and  I  am  here  to 
stay." 

"I  shall  send  you  a  doctor;  but  they  are  of  little 
use." 

"Is  there  any  precaution  to  take?" 

"Yes.  Live  simply.  Smoke  your  pipe — I  believe 
in  that.  You  can  get  cooler  water  by  hanging  out  in 
the  air  demijohns  and  bottles  wrapped  in  wet  linen 
—a  West-Indian  way,  and  the  well  water  is  cold.  I 
shall  come  back  to-morrow."  And  so  advising,  he 
left  him. 

De  Courval  set  the  room  in  order,  and  lighted  his 
pipe,  after  obeying  Girard 's  suggestions.  At  inter 
vals  he  sponged  the  hot  body  of  the  man  who  was 
retching  in  agony  of  pain,  babbling  and  crying 
out  about  courts  and  princes  and  a  woman— ever  of 
a  woman  dead  and  of  some  prison  life.  De  Courval 
heard  his  delirious  revelations  with  wonder  and  a 
pained  sense  of  learning  the  secrets  of  a  friend. 

In  an  hour  came  Dr.  Rush,  with  his  quiet  manner 
and  thin,  intellectual  face.  Like  most  of  those  of  his 
profession,  the  death  of  some  of  whom  in  this  battle 
with  disease  a  tablet  in  the  College  of  Physicians 
records  to-day,  he  failed  of  no  duty  to  rich  or  poor. 


THE  RED  CITY  213 

But  for  those  who  disputed  his  views  of  practice  he 
had  only  the  most  virulent  abuse.  A  firm  friend, 
an  unpardoning  hater,  and  in  some  ways  far  ahead 
of  his  time,  was  the  man  who  now  sat  down  as  he 
said:  "I  must  bleed  him  at  once.  Calomel  and 
blood-letting  are  the  only  safety,  sir.  I  bled  Dr. 
Griffith  seventy-five  ounces  to-day.  He  will  get 
well. ' '  The  doctor  bled  everybody,  and  over  and  over. 

His  voice  seemed  to  rouse  Schmidt.  He  cried  out : 
"Take  away  that  horse  leech.  He  will  kill  me." 
He  fought  them  both  and  tore  the  bandage  from  his 
arm.  The  doctor  at  last  gave  up,  unused  to  resis 
tance.  * '  Give  him  the  calomel  powders. ' ' 

'  *  Out  with  your  drugs ! ' '  cried  the  sick  man,  strik 
ing  at  him  in  fury,  and  then  falling  back  in  delirium 
again,  yellow  and  flushed.  The  doctor  left  in  dis 
gust,  with  his  neat  wrist  ruffles  torn.  On  the  stair 
he  said:  "He  will  die,  but  I  shall  call  to-morrow. 
He  will  be  dead,  I  fear." 

"Is  he  gone?"  gasped  Schmidt,  when,  returning, 
Rene  sat  down  by  his  bedside. 

'  *  Yes,  sir ;  but  he  will  come  again. ' ' 

"I  do  not  want  him.  I  want  air— air."  As  he 
spoke,  he  rose  on  his  elbow  and  looked  about  him. 
' '  I  knew  you  would  come.  I  should  never  have  sent 
for  you.  Mein  Gott!"  he  cried  hoarsely,  looking  at 
the  room  and  the  bedclothes.  "Horrible!"  His 
natural  refinement  was  shocked  at  what  he  saw. 
"Ach!  to  die  like  a  wallowing  pig  is  a  torture  of 
disgust!  An  insult,  this  disease  and  torment." 
Then  wandering  again :  "  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  hold  me 
excused. ' ' 


214  THE  RED  CITY 

The  distracted  young  man  never  forgot  that  night. 
The  German  at  dawn,  crying,  "Air,  air!"  got  up, 
and  despite  all  De  Courval  could  do  staggered  out 
to  the  upper  porch  and  lay  uncovered  on  a  mattress 
upon  which  De  Courval  dragged  him.  The  milk  and 
food  came,  and  at  six  o'clock  Stephen  Girard. 

'  *  I  have  been  up  all  night, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  but  here  is 
a  black  to  help  you. ' ' 

To  De  Courval's  delight,  it  was  old  Cicero,  who, 
lured  by  high  wages  given  to  the  negro,  whom  even 
the  pest  passed  by,  had  left  the  widow 's  service. 

* '  Now, ' '  said  Girard,  * '  here  is  help.  Pay  him  well. 
Our  friend  will  die,  I  fear ;  and,  sir,  you  are  a  brave 
man,  but  do  not  sit  here  all  day." 

De  Courval,  in  despair  at  his  verdict,  thanked 
him.  But  the  friend  was  not  to  die.  Cicero  proved 
faithful,  and  cooked  and  nursed  and  Rene,  as 
the  hours  of  misery  went  on,  began  to  hope.  The 
fever  lessened  in  a  day  or  two,  but  Schmidt  still  lay 
on  the  porch,  speechless,  yellow  and  wasted,  swear 
ing  furiously  at  any  effort  to  get  him  back  to  bed. 
As  the  days  ran  on  he  grew  quiet  and  rejoiced  to  feel 
the  cool  breeze  from  the  river  and  had  a  smile 
for  Rene  and  a  brief  word  of  cheer  for  Girard,  who 
came  hither  daily,  heroically  uncomplaining,  spend 
ing  his  strength  lavishly  and  his  money  with  less  in 
difference.  Schmidt,  back  again  in  the  world  of  hu 
man  interests,  listened  to  his  talk  with  Rene,  himself 
for  the  most  part  silent. 

Twice  a  day,  when  thus  in  a  measure  relieved,  as 
the  flood  served,  De  Courval  rowed  out  on  the  river, 
and  came  back  refreshed  by  his  swim.  He  sent  com- 


THE  BED  CITY  215 

forting  notes  by  Cicero  to  his  mother  and  to  Mrs. 
Swanwick,  and  a  message  of  remembrance  to  Mar 
garet,  and  was  careful  to  add  that  he  had  ''fumed" 
the  letters  with  sulphur,  that  things  were  better 
with  Schmidt,  and  he  himself  was  well.  Cicero 
came  back  with  glad  replies  and  fruit  and  milk  and 
lettuce  and  fresh  eggs  and  what  not,  while  day  after 
day  three  women  prayed  at  morning  and  night  for 
those  whom  in  their  different  ways  they  loved. 

One  afternoon  Dr.  Rush  came  again  and  said  it 
was  amazing,  but  it  would  have  been  still  better  if 
he  had  been  let  to  bleed  him,  telling  how  he  had  bled 
Dr.  Mease  six  times  in  five  days,  and  now  he  was 
safe.  But  here  he  considered  that  he  would  be  no 
further  needed.  Schmidt  had  listened  civilly  to  the 
doctor  with  the  mild,  tired,  blue  eyes  and  delicate 
features;  feeling,  with  the  inflowing  tide  of  vigor, 
a  return  of  his  normal  satisfaction  in  the  study  of 
man,  he  began,  to  De  Courval's  joy,  to  amuse  him 
self. 

1  i  Do  you  bleed  the  Quakers,  too  ? "  he  asked. 

"Why  not?"  said  the  doctor,  puzzled. 

' '  Have  they  as  much  blood  as  other  people  ?  You 
look  to  be  worn  out.  Pray  do  not  go.  Sit  down. 
Cicero  shall  give  you  some  chocolate. ' ' 

The  doctor  liked  few  things  better  than  a  chance 
to  talk.  He  sat  down  again  as  desired,  saying: 
"Yes,  I  am  tired ;  but  though  I  had  only  three  hours' 
sleep  last  night,  I  am  still,  through  the  divine  Good 
ness,  in  perfect  health.  Yesterday  was  a  triumph 
for  mercury,  jalap,  and  bleeding.  They  saved  at 
least  a  hundred  lives." 


216  THE  RED  CITY 

"Are  the  doctors  all  of  your  way  of  thinking?" 

"No,  sir.  I  have  to  combat  prejudice  and  false 
hood.  Sir,  they  are  murderers. ' ' 

' '  Sad,  very  sad ! ' '  remarked  Schmidt. 

"I  have  one  satisfaction.  I  grieve  for  the  blind 
ness  of  men,  but  I  nourish  a  belief  that  my  labor  is 
acceptable  to  Heaven.  Malice  and  slander  are  my 
portion  on  earth;  but  my  opponents  will  have  their 
reward  hereafter. ' ' 

"Most  comforting!"  murmured  Schmidt.  "But 
what  a  satisfaction  to  be  sure  you  are  right ! ' ' 

"Yes,  to  know,  sir,  that  I  am  right  and  these  my 
enemies  wrong,  does  console  me;  and,  too,  to  feel 
that  I  am  humbly  following  in  the  footsteps  of  my 
Master.  But  I  must  go.  The  chocolate  is  good. 
My  thanks.  If  you  relapse,  let  me  know,  and  the 
lancet  will  save  you.  Good-by. ' ' 

When  Rene  returned,  having  attended  the  doctor 
to  the  door,  Schmidt  was  smiling. 

"Ah,  my  son,"  he  said,  "only  in  the  Old  Testa 
ment  will  you  find  a  man  like  that— malice  and 
piety,  with  a  belief  in  himself  no  man,  no  reason, 
can  disturb. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  heard  him  with  wonder." 

"He  has  done  me  good,  but  now  I  am  tired.  He 
has  gone— he  said  so— to  visit  Miss  Gainor,  at  the 
Hill.  I  should  like  to  hear  her  talk  to  him. ' ' 

An  attack  of  gout  had  not  improved  that  lady's 
temper,  and  she  cruelly  mocked  at  the  great  doctor's 
complaints  of  his  colleagues.  When  she  heard  of 
De  Courval,  and  how  at  last  he  would  not  agree  to 
have  Schmidt  held  for  the  doctor  to  bleed  him  she 


THE  KED  CITY  217 

said  he  was  a  fine  fellow ;  and  to  the  doctor 's  state 
ment  that  he  was  a  fool,  she  retorted:  "You  have 
changed  your  religion  twice,  I  do  hear.  When  you 
are  born  again,  try  to  be  born  a  fool." 

The  doctor,  enraged,  would  have  gone  at  once,  but 
the  gout  was  in  solid  possession,  and  the  threat  to 
send  for  Dr.  Chovet  held  him.  He  laughed,  out 
wardly  at  least,  and  did  not  go.  The  next  day  he, 
too,  was  in  the  grip  of  the  fever,  and  was  bled  to  his 
satisfaction,  recovering  later  to  resume  his  gallant 
work. 

And  now  that,  after  another  week,  Schmidt,  a 
ghastly  frame  of  a  man,  began  to  eat,  but  still  would 
not  talk,  De  Courval,  who  had  never  left  him  except 
for  his  swim  or  to  walk  in  the  garden,  leaving  Cicero 
in  charge,  went  out  into  the  streets  to  find  a  shop 
and  that  rare  article,  tobacco. 

It  was  now  well  on  into  this  fatal  September.  The 
deaths  were  three  hundred  a  week.  The  sick  no 
man  .counted,  but  probably  half  of  those  attacked 
died.  At  night  in  his  vigils,  De  Courval  heard 
negroes,  with  push-carts  or  dragging  chaises,  cry: 
"Bring  out  your  dead!  Bring  out  your  dead!" 
The  bodies  were  let  down  from  upper  windows  by 
ropes  or  left  outside  of  the  doorways  until  the  death- 
cart  came  and  took  them  away. 

It  was  about  noon  when  Rene  left  the  house.  As 
he  neared  the  center  of  the  city,  there  were  more 
people  in  the  streets  than  he  expected  to  see ;  but  all 
wore  a  look  of  anxiety  and  avoided  one  another, 
walking  in  the  middle  of  the  roadway.  No  one 
shook  hands  with  friend  or  kinsman.  Many  smoked ; 


218  THE  EED  CITY 

most  of  them  wore  collars  of  tarred  rope,  or  chewed 
garlic,  or  held  to  their  faces  vials  of  ' '  vinegar  of  the 
four  thieves"  once  popular  in  the  plague.  He  twice 
saw  men,  stricken  as  they  walked,  creep  away  like 
animals,  beseeching  help  from  those  who  fled  in  dis 
may.  Every  hour  had  its  sickening  tragedy. 

As  he  stood  on  Second  Street  looking  at  a  man 
chalking  the  doors  of  infected  houses,  a  lightly  clad 
young  woman  ran  forth  screaming.  He  stopped  her. 
''What  is  it?  Can  I  help  you?"  A  great  impulse 
of  desire  to  aid  came  over  him,  a  feeling  of  pitiful 
self-appeal  to  the  manhood  of  his  courage. 

' '  Let  me  go !  My  husband  has  it.  I  won 't  stay ! 
I  am  too  young  to  die. ' ' 

A  deadly  fear  fell  upon  the  young  Huguenot.  "I, 
too,  am  young,  and  may  die, ' '  he  murmured ;  but  he 
went  in  and  up-stairs.  He  saw  an  old  man,  yellow 
and  convulsed;  but  being  powerless  to  help  him,  he 
went  out  to  find  some  one. 

On  the  bridge  over  Dock  Creek  he  met  Daniel 
Offley.  He  did  not  esteem  him  greatly,  but  he  said, 
"I  want  to  know  how  I  can  help  a  man  I  have  just 
left." 

The  two  men  who  disliked  each  other  had  then 
and  there  their  lesson.  ' '  I  will  go  with  thee. ' '  They 
found  the  old  man  dead.  As  they  came  out,  Offley 
said,  "Come  with  me,  if  thee  is  minded  to  aid  thy 
fellows, ' '  and  they  went  on,  talking  of  the  agony  of 
the  doomed  city. 

Hearses  and  push-carts  went  by  in  rows,  heavy 
with  naked  corpses  in  the  tainted  air.  Very  few 
well-dressed  people  were  seen.  Fashion  and  wealth 


THE  RED  CITY  219 

had  gone,  panic-stricken,  and  good  grass  crops  could 
have  been  cut  in  the  desolate  streets  near  the  Dela 
ware. 

Now  and  then  some  scared  man,  walking  in  the 
roadway,  for  few,  as  I  said,  used  the  sidewalk,  would 
turn,  shocked  at  hearing  the  Quaker's  loud  voice; 
for,  as  was  noticed,  persons  who  met,  spoke  softly 
and  low,  as  if  feeling  the  nearness  of  the  unseen 
dead  in  the  houses.  While  De  Courval  waited,  Offley 
went  into  several  alleys  on  their  way,  and  came  out 
more  quiet. 

"I  have  business  here,"  said  Offley,  as  he  led  the 
way  over  the  south  side  of  the  Potter's  Field  we 
now  call  Washington  Square.  He  paused  to  pay 
two  black  men  who  were  digging  wide  pits  for  the 
fast-coming  dead  cast  down  from  the  death-carts. 
A  Catholic  priest  and  a  Lutheran  clergyman  were 
busy,  wearily  saying  brief  prayers  over  the  dead. 

Offley  looked  on,  for  a  minute  silent.  "The  priest 
is  of  Rome,"  he  said,  "one  Keating— a  good  man; 
the  other  a  Lutheran." 

' '  Strange  fellowship  ! ' '  thought  De  Courval. 

They  left  them  to  this  endless  task,  and  went  on, 
Daniel  talking  in  his  oppressively  loud  voice  of  the 
number  of  the  deaths.  The  imminence  of  peril  af 
fected  the  spirits  of  most  men,  but  not  Offley.  De 
Courval,  failing  to  answer  a  question,  he  said : 
'  *  What  troubles  thee,  young  man  1  Is  thee  af  eared  ? ' ' 

"A  man  should  be— and  at  first  I  was;  but  now  I 
am  thinking  of  the  Papist  and  Lutheran— working 
together.  That  gives  one  to  think,  as  we  say  in 
French." 


220  THE  BED  CITY 

"I  see  not  why,"  said  Offley.  "But  we  must 
hasten,  or  the  health  committee  will  be  gone." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  at  the  State  House. 
Daniel  led  him  through  the  hall  and  up-stairs.  In 
the  council-room  of  Penn  was  seated  a  group  of 
notable  men. 

1 '  Here, ' '  said  Offley  in  his  great  voice,  ' '  is  a  young 
man  of  a  will  to  help  us. ' ' 

Girard  rose.  "This,  gentlemen,  is  my  country 
man,  the  Vicomte  de  Courval." 

Matthew  Clarkson,  the  mayor,  made  him  wel 
come. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said.  "We  shall  presently  be 
free  to  direct  you." 

De  Courval  took  the  offered  seat  and  looked  with 
interest  at  the  men  before  him. 

There  were  Carey,  the  future  historian  of  the 
plague ;  Samuel  Wetherill,  the  Free  Quaker ;  Henry 
de  Forrest,  whom  he  had  met;  Thomas  Savory; 
Thomas  Wistar;  Thomas  Scattergood;  Jonathan 
Seargeant ;  and  others.  Most  of  them,  being  Friends, 
sat  wearing  their  white  beaver  hats.  Tranquil  and 
fearless,  they  were  quietly  disposing  of  a  task  from 
which  some  of  the  overseers  of  the  poor  had  fled. 
Six  of  those  present  were  very  soon  to  join  the  four 
thousand  who  died  before  November.  When  the 
meeting  was  over  Girard  said  to  De  Courval :  ' '  Peter 
Helm  and  I  are  to  take  charge  of  the  hospital  on 
Bush  Hill.  Are  you  willing  to  help  us  ?  It  is  peril 
ous  ;  I  ought  to  tell  you  that. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  will  go,"  said  Rene;  "I  have  now  time, 
and  I  want  to  be  of  some  use. ' ' 


THE  BED  CITY  221 

' '  We  thank  you, ' '  said  Matthew  Clarkson.  ' '  Help 
is  sorely  needed. ' ' 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Girard.  "My  chaise  is 
here.  Help  is  scarce.  Too  many  who  should  be  of 
us  have  fled. ' '  As  they  went  out,  he  added :  "  I  owe 
this  city  much,  as  some  day  it  will  know.  You  are 
going  to  a  scene  of  ungoverned  riot,  of  drunken 
negro  nurses ;  but  it  is  to  be  changed,  and  soon,  too. ' ' 

James  Hamilton's  former  country  seat  on  Bush 
Hill  was  crowded  with  the  dying  and  the  dead ;  but 
there  were  two  devoted  doctors,  and  soon  there  was 
better  order  and  discipline. 

De  Courval  went  daily  across  the  doomed  city  to 
his  loathsome  task,  walking  thither  after  his  break 
fast.  He  helped  to  feed  and  nurse  the  sick, 
aided  in  keeping  the  beds  decent,  and  in  handling 
the  many  who  died,  until  at  nightfall,  faint  and 
despairing,  he  wandered  back  to  his  home.  Only 
once  Schmidt  asked  a  question,  and  hearing  his  sad 
story,  was  silent,  except  to  say :  "  I  thought  as  much. 
God  guard  you,  my  son ! ' ' 

One  day,  returning,  he  saw  at  evening  on  Front 
Street  a  man  seated  on  a  door-step.  He  stopped, 
and  the  man  looked  up.  It  was  the  blacksmith 
Offley. 

"  I  am  stricken, ' '  he  said.    ' '  Will  thee  help  me  t ' ' 

"Surely  I  will."  De  Courval  assisted  him  into 
the  house  and  to  bed.  He  had  sent  his  family  away. 
"I  have  shod  my  last  horse,  I  fear.  Fetch  me  Dr. 
Hutchinson. ' ' 

"He  died  to-day." 

"Then  another— Dr.  Hodge;  but  my  wife  must 


222  THE  BED  CITY 

not  know.  She  would  come.  Ask  Friend  Penning- 
ton  to  visit  me.  I  did  not  approve  of  thee,  young 
man.  I  ask  thee  pardon;  I  was  mistaken.  Go,  and 
be  quick/' 

' '  I  shall  find  some  one. ' '  He  did  not  tell  him  that 
both  Pennington  and  the  physician  were  dead. 

De  Courval  was  able  to  secure  the  needed  help, 
but  the  next  afternoon  when  he  returned,  the  black 
smith  was  in  a  hearse  at  the  door.  De  Courval 
walked  away  thoughtful.  Even  those  he  knew 
avoided  him,  and  he  observed,  what  many  noticed, 
that  every  one  looked  sallow  and  their  eyes  yellow. 
A  strange  thing  it  seemed. 

And  so,  with  letters  well  guarded,  that  none  he 
loved  might  guess  his  work,  September  passed,  and 
the  German  was  at  last  able  to  be  in  the  garden,  but 
strangely  feeble,  still  silent,  and  now  asking  for 
books.  A  great  longing  was  on  the  young  man  to 
see  those  he  loved;  but  October,  which  saw  two 
thousand  perish,  came  and  went,  and  it  was  well  on 
into  the  cooler  November  before  the  pest-house  was 
closed  and  De  Courval  set  free,  happy  in  a  vast  and 
helpful  experience,  but  utterly  worn  out  and  finding 
his  last  week's  walks  to  the  hospital  far  too  great  an 
exertion.  What  his  body  had  lost  for  a  time,  his 
character  had  gained  in  an  exercised  charity  for  the 
sick,  for  the  poor,  and  for  the  opinions  of  men  on 
whom  he  had  previously  looked  with  small  respect. 

A  better  and  wiser  man  on  the  20th  of  November 
drove  out  with  Schmidt  to  the  home  of  the  Wynnes 
at  Merion,  where  Schmidt  left  him  to  the  tender  care 
of  two  women,  who  took  despotic  possession. 


THE  EED  CITY  223 


"At  last!"  cried  the  mother,  and  with  tears  most 
rare  to  her  she  held  the  worn  and  wasted  figure  in 
her  arms.  "Mon  Dieu!"  she  cried,  as  for  the  first 
time  she  heard  of  what  he  had  done.  For  only  to 
her  was  confession  of  heroic  conduct  possible. 
"And  I— I  would  have  kept  you  from  God's  service. 
I  am  proud  of  you  as  never  before."  All  the  long 
afternoon  they  talked,  and  Mr.  Wynne,  just  come 
back,  and  Darthea  would  have  him  to  stay  for  a  few 
days. 

At  bedtime,  as  they  sat  alone,  Hugh  said  to  his 
wife,  "I  was  sure  of  that  young  man." 

"Is  he  not  a  little  like  you?"  asked  Darthea. 

"Nonsense!"  he  cried.  "Do  you  think  every 
good  man  like  me  ?  I  grieve  that  I  was  absent. ' ' 

"And  I  do  not." 


XV 


THE  weeks  before  Mrs.  Swanwick's  household  re 
turned  to  the  city  were  for  De  Courval  of  the 
happiest.  He  was  gathering  again  his  former 
strength  in  the  matchless  weather  of  our  late  au 
tumnal  days.  To  take  advantage  of  the  re-awakened 
commerce  and  to  return  to  work  was,  as  Wynne 
urged,  unwise  for  a  month  or  more.  The  American 
politics  of  that  stormy  time  were  to  the  young  noble 
of  small  moment,  and  the  Terror,  proclaimed  in 
France  in  September  on  Barras's  motion,  followed 
by  the  queen's  death,  made  all  hope  of  change  in 
his  own  land  for  the  present  out  of  the  question. 

With  the  passing  of  the  plague,  Genet  and  his  staff 
had  come  back;  but  for  Rene  to  think  of  what  he 
eagerly  desired  was  only  to  be  reminded  of  his  own 
physical  feebleness. 

Meanwhile  Genet's  insolent  demands  went  on,  and 
the  insulted  cabinet  was  soon  about  to  ask  for  his 
recall,  when,  as  Schmidt  hoped,  Carteaux  would  also 
leave  the  country.  The  enthusiasm  for  the  French 
republic  was  at  first  in  no  wise  lessened  by  Genet's 
conduct,  although  his  threat  to  appeal  to  the  coun 
try  against  Washington  called  out  at  last  a  storm 
of  indignation  which  no  one  of  the  minister's  viola 
tions  of  law  and  of  the  courtesies  of  life  had  yet  oc 
casioned.  At  first  it  was  held  to  be  an  invention  of 


THE  BED  CITY  225 

" black-hearted  Anglican  aristocrats,"  but  when  it 
came  out  in  print,  Genet  was  at  once  alarmed  at  the 
mischief  he  had  made.  He  had  seriously  injured  his 
Republican  allies,— in  fact,  nearly  ruined  the  party, 
said  Madison,— for  at  no  time  in  our  history  was 
Washington  more  venerated.  The  Democratic  lead 
ers  begged  men  not  to  blame  the  newly  founded  re 
public,  "so  gloriously  cemented  with  the  blood  of 
aristocrats,"  for  the  language  of  its  insane  envoy. 
The  Federalists  would  have  been  entirely  pleased, 
save  that  neither  England  nor  France  was  dealing 
wisely  with  our  commerce,  now  ruined  by  the  ex 
actions  of  privateers  and  ships  of  war.  Both  parties 
wailed  over  this  intolerable  union  of  insult  and 
injury;  but  always  the  President  stood  for  peace, 
and,  contemplating  a  treaty  with  England,  was  well 
aware  how  hopeless  would  be  a  contest  on  sea  or 
land  with  the  countries  which,  recklessly  indifferent 
to  international  law,  were  ever  tempting  us  to  active 
measures  of  resentment.  For  De  Courval  the  situ 
ation  had,  as  it  seemed,  no  personal  interest.  There 
has  been  some  need,  however,  to  remind  my  readers 
of  events  which  were  not  without  influence  upon  the 
fortunes  of  those  with  whom  this  story  is  concerned. 
Schmidt  was  earnestly  desirous  that  they  should 
still  remain  in  the  country,  and  this  for  many  rea 
sons.  De  Courval  and  he  would  be  the  better  for 
the  cool  autumn  weather,  and  both  were  quickly 
gathering  strength.  Madame  de  Courval  had 
rejoined  them.  The  city  was  in  mourning.  Whole 
families  had  been  swept  away.  There  were  houses 
which  no  one  owned,  unclaimed  estates,  and  men 

15 


226  THE  BED  CITY 

missing  of  whose  deaths  there  was  no  record,  while 
every  day  or  two  the  little  family  of  refugees  heard 
of  those  dead  among  the  middle  class  or  of  poor 
acquaintances  of  whose  fates  they  had  hitherto 
learned  nothing.  Neither  Schmidt  nor  Rene  would 
talk  of  the  horrors  they  had  seen,  and  the  subject 
was  by  tacit  agreement  altogether  avoided. 

Meanwhile  they  rode,  walked,  and  fished  in  the 
Schuylkill.  Schmidt  went  now  and  then  to  town 
on  business,  and  soon,  the  fear  of  the  plague  quite 
at  an  end,  party  strife  was  resumed,  and  the  game  of 
politics  began  anew,  while  the  city  forgot  the  heroic 
few  who  had  served  it  so  well,  and  whom  to-day 
history  also  has  forgotten  and  no  stone  com 
memorates. 

One  afternoon  Schmidt  said  to  De  Courval: 
' { Come,  let  us  have  a  longer  walk ! ' ' 

Margaret,  eager  to  join  them,  would  not  ask  it, 
and  saw  them  go  down  the  garden  path  toward  the 
river.  "Bring  me  some  goldenrod,  please/'  she 
called. 

"Yes,  with  pleasure/'  cried  De  Courval  at  the 
gate,  as  he  turned  to  look  back,  "if  there  be  any 
left/1 

"Then  asters,"  she  called. 

"A  fair  picture,"  said  Schmidt,  "the  mother  and 
daughter,  the  bud  and  the  rose.  You  know  the 
bluets  folks  hereabouts  call  the  Quaker  ladies,— oh, 
I  spoke  of  this  before,— pretty,  but  it  sufficeth  not. 
Some  sweet  vanity  did  contrive  those  Quaker  gar 
ments.  ' ' 

It  was  in  fact  a  fair  picture.     The  girl  stood,  a 


THE  BED  CITY  227 

gray  figure  in  soft  Eastern  stuffs  brought  home  by 
our  ships.  One  arm  was  about  the  mother's  waist, 
and  with  the  other  she  caught  back  the  hair  a  play 
ful  breeze  blew  forward  to  caress  the  changeful 
roses  of  her  cheek. 

"I  must  get  me  a  net,  mother,  such  as  the  Presi 
dent  wore  one  First  Day  at  Christ  Church/' 

"Thou  must  have  been  piously  attending  to  thy 
prayers,"  returned  Mrs.  Swanwick,  smiling. 

"Oh,  but  how  could  I  help  seeing?" 

"It  is  to  keep  the  powder  off  his  velvet  coat,  my 
dear.  When  thou  art  powdered  again,  we  must 
have  a  net. ' ' 

* '  Oh,  mother ! "    It  was  still  a  sore  subject. 

"I  should  like  to  have  seen  thee,  child." 

"Oh,  the  naughty  mother!  I  shall  tell  of  thee. 
Ah,  here  is  a  pin  in  sight.  Let  me  hide  it,  mother." 

The  woman  seen  from  the  gate  near-by  was  some 
forty-five  years  old,  her  hair  a  trifle  gray  under  the 
high  cap,  the  face  just  now  merry,  the  gown  of  fine, 
gray  linen  cut  to  have  shown  the  neck  but  for  the 
soft,  silken  shawl  crossed  on  the  bosom  and  secured 
behind  by  a  tie  at  the  waist.  A  pin  held  it  in  place 
where  it  crossed,  and  other  pins  on  the  shoulders. 
The  gown  had  elbow  sleeves,  and  she  wore  long, 
openwork  thread  glove  mitts ;  for  she  was  expecting 
Mistress  Wynne  and  Josiah  and  was  pleased  in  her 
own  way  to  be  at  her  best. 

Schmidt,  lingering,  said:  "It  is  the  pins.  They 
must  needs  be  hid  in  the  folds  not  to  be  seen.  Ah, 
vanity  has  many  disguises.  It  is  only  to  be  neat, 
thou  seest,  Rene,  and  not  seem  to  be  solicitous  con- 


228  THE  BED  CITY 

cerning  appearances."  Few  things  escaped  the 
German. 

They  walked  away,  and  as  they  went  saw  Mis 
tress  Gainor  Wynne  go  by  in  her  landau  with  Lang- 
stroth.  "That  is  queer  to  be  seen— the  damsel 
in  her  seventies  and  uncle  bulldog  Josiah.  He  had 
a  permanent  ground  rent  on  her  hill  estate  as  lasting 
as  time,  a  matter  of  some  ten  pounds.  They  have 
enjoyed  to  fight  over  it  for  years.  But  just  now 
there  is  peace.  Oh,  she  told  me  I  was  to  hold  my 
tongue.  She  drove  to  Gray  Court,  and  what  she 
did  to  the  man  I  know  not ;  but  the  rent  is  redeemed, 
and  they  are  bent  on  mischief,  the  pair  of  them. 
As  I  was  not  to  speak  of  it,  I  did  not;  but  if 
you  tell  never  shall  I  be  forgiven."  He  threw 
his  long  bulk  on  the  grass  and  laughed  great  laugh 
ter. 

"But  what  is  it?"  said  Rene. 

"Outer  Himmel,  man!  the  innocent  pair  are  gone 
to  persuade  the  Pearl  and  the  sweet  mother  shell — 
she  that  made  it— to  take  that  lottery  prize.  I 
would  I  could  see  them." 

' '  But  she  will  never,  never  do  it, ' '  said  Rene. 

1 '  No ;  for  she  has  already  done  it. ' ' 

' '  What,  truly  1    V raiment! ' ' 

"Yes.  Is  there  not  a  god  of  laughter  to  whom  I 
may  pray?  I  have  used  up  my  stock  of  it.  When 
Cicero  came  in  one  day,  he  fetched  a  letter  to 
Stephen  Girard  from  my  Pearl.  She  had  won  her 
mother  to  consent,  and  Girard  arranged  it  all,  and, 
lo !  the  great  prize  of  money  is  gone  long  ago  to  help 
the  poor  and  the  sick.  Now  the  ministers  of  Prince- 


THE  RED  CITY  229 

ton   College   may   pray   in   peace.     Laugh,   young 
man!" 

But  he  did  not.    ' c  And  she  thought  to  do  that  1 ' ' 
"Yes;  but  as  yet  none  know.     They  will  soon,  I 
fear." 

' '  But  she  took  it,  after  all.  What  will  Friends  say  T ' 
1 '  She  was  read  out  of  meeting  long  ago,  disowned, 
and  I  do  advise  them  to  be  careful  how  they  talk 
to  Madame  of  the  girl.  There  is  a  not  mild  maternal 
tigress  caged  somewhere  inside  of  the  gentlewoman. 
'Ware  claws,  if  you  are  wise,  Friend  Wain!"  De 
Courval  laughed,  and  they  went  on  their  way  again, 
for  a  long  time  silent. 

At  Flat  Rock,  above  the  swiftly  flowing  Schuyl- 
kill,  they  sat  down,  and  Schmidt,  saying,  "At  last 
the  pipe  tastes  good,"  began  to  talk  in  the  strain  of 
joyous  excitement  which  for  him  the  beautiful  in 
nature  always  evoked,  when  for  a  time  his  language 
became  singular.  "Ah,  Rene,  it  is  worth  while  to 
cross  the  ocean  to  see  King  Autumn  die  thus  glo 
riously.  How  peaceful  is  the  time!  They  call  this 
pause  when  regret  doth  make  the  great  Reaper  linger 
pitiful— they  call  it  the  Indian  summer." 
"And  we,  the  summer  of  St.  Martin." 
"And  we,  in  my  homeland,  have  no  name  for 
it,  or,  rather,  Spdtsommer;  but  it  is  not  as  here. 
See  how  the  loitering  leaves,  red  and  gold,  rock  in 
mid-air.  A  serene  expectancy  is  in  the  lingering 
hours.  It  is  as  still  as  a  dream  of  prayer  that 
awaiteth  answer.  Listen,  Rene,  how  the  breeze  is 
stirring  the  spruces,  and  hark,  it  is— ah,  yes— the 
Angelus  of  evening. ' ' 


230  THE  BED  CITY 

His  contemplative  ways  were  familiar,  and  just 
now  suited  the  young  man's  mood.  "A  pretty  car 
pet,"  he  said,  "and  what  a  gay  fleet  of  colors  on  the 
water!91 

"Yes,  yes.  There  is  no  sorrow  for  me  in  the 
autumn  here,  but  after  comes  the  winter."  His 
mood  of  a  sudden  changed.  ' '  Let  us  talk  of  another 
world,  Rene— the  world  of  men.  I  want  to  ask  of 
you  a  question;  nay,  many  questions."  His  tone 
changed  as  he  spoke.  ' '  I  may  embarrass  you. ' ' 

De  Courval  knew  by  this  time  that  on  one  subject 
this  might  very  well  be  the  case.  He  said,  however, 
"  I  do  not  know  of  anything,  sir,  which  you  may  not 
freely  ask  me. ' ' 

He  was  more  at  ease  when  Schmidt  said,  ' '  We  are 
in  the  strange  position  of  being  two  men  one  of 
whom  twice  owes  his  life  to  the  other. ' ' 

"Ah,  but  you  forget  to  consider  what  unending 
kindness  I  too  owe— I,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land; 
nor  what  your  example,  your  society,  have  been  to 
me." 

"Thank  you,  Rene;  I  could  gather  more  of  good 
from  you  than  you  from  me. ' ' 

"Oh,  sir!" 

"Yes,  yes;  but  all  that  I  have  said  is  but  to 
lead  up  to  the  wide  obligation  to  be  frank  with  me.  ' ' 

"I  shall  be." 

' '  When  I  was  ill  I  babbled.  I  was  sometimes  half- 
conscious,  and  was  as  one  man  helplessly  watching 
another  on  the  rack  telling  about  him  things  he  had 
no  mind  to  hear  spoken." 

"You  wandered  much,  sir." 


THE  RED  CITY  231 

"Then  did  I  speak  of  a  woman?" 

"Yes;  and  of  courts  and  battles." 

"Did  I  speak  of— did  I  use  my  own  name,  my 
title?  Of  course  you  know  that  I  am  not  Herr 
Schmidt." 

"Yes;  many  have  said  that." 

"You  heard  my  name,  my  title?" 

"Yes;  I  heard  them." 

For  a  minute  there  was  silence.  Then  Schmidt 
said :  *  *  There  are  reasons  why  it  must  be  a  secret— 
perhaps  for  years  or  always.  I  am  Graf  von  Ehren- 
stein ;  but  I  am  more  than  that— much  more  and  few 
even  in  Germany  know  me  by  that  name.  And  I 
did  say  so  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  must  die  in  your  memory,  my  son,  as  the 
priests  say  of  what  is  heard  in  confession. ' ' 

This  statement,  which  made  clear  a  good  deal  of 
what  De  Courval  had  heard  in  the  German's  de 
lirium,  was  less  singular  to  him  than  it  would  have 
seemed  to-day.  More  than  one  mysterious  titled 
person  of  importance  came  to  the  city  under  an  as 
sumed  name,  and  went  away  leaving  no  one  the 
wiser. 

"It  is  well,"  continued  Schmidt,  "that  you,  who 
are  become  so  dear  to  me,  should  know  my  story.  I 
shall  make  it  brief. 

"Soon  after  my  marriage,  a  man  of  such  position 
as  sometimes  permits  men  to  insult  with  impunity 
spoke  of  my  wife  so  as  to  cause  me  to  demand  an 
apology.  He  fell  back  on  his  higher  rank,  and  in 
my  anger  I  struck  him  on  the  parade-ground  at 


232  THE  BED  CITY 

Potsdam  while  he  was  reviewing  his  regiment.  A 
lesser  man  than  I  would  have  lost  his  life  for  what  I 
did.  I  was  sent  to  the  fortress  of  Spandau,  where 
for  two  years  I  had  the  freedom  of  the  fortress,  but 
was  rarely  allowed  to  hear  from  my  wife  or  to  write. 
Books  I  did  have,  as  I  desired,  and  there  I  learned 
my  queer  English  from  my  only  English  books, 
Shakespeare  and  the  Bible." 

"Ah,  now  I  understand,"  said  De  Courval;  "but 
it  is  not  Shakespeare  you  talk.  Thanks  to  you,  I 
know  him." 

' '  No,  not  quite ;  who  could  ?  After  two  years  my 
father 's  interest  obtained  my  freedom  at  the  cost  of 
my  exile.  My  wife  had  died  in  giving  birth  to  a 
still-born  child.  My  father,  an  old  man,  provided 
me  with  small  means,  which  I  now  do  not  need,  nor 
longer  accept,  since  he  gave  grudgingly,  because  I 
had  done  that  which  for  him  was  almost  unpardon 
able.  I  went  to  England  and  France,  and  then 
came  hither  to  breathe  a  freer  air,  and,  as  you  know, 
have  prospered,  and  am,  for  America,  rich.  You 
cannot  know  the  disgust  in  regard  to  arbitrary  in 
justice  with  which  I  left  my  own  land.  I  felt  that  to 
use  a  title  in  this  country  would  be  valueless,  and 
subject  me  to  comment  and  to  inquiry  I  wished  to 
avoid.  You  have  earned  the  right  to  know  my  story, 
as  I  know  yours.  Mr.  Alexander  Hamilton  and  my 
business  adviser,  Mr.  Justice  Wilson,  alone  know  my 
name  and  title,  and,  I  may  add,  Mr.  Gouverneur 
Morris.  I  shall  say  to  the  two  former  that  you  share 
this  knowledge.  They  alone  know  why  it  is  reason 
able  and,  indeed,  may  have  been  prudent  that,  until 


THE  BED  CITY  233 

my  return  home,  I  remain  unknown.  It  is  needless 
to  go  farther  into  the  matter  with  you.  This  simple 
life  is  to  my  taste,  but  I  may  some  day  have  to  go 
back  to  my  own  land — I  devoutly  trust  never.  We 
shall  not  again  open  a  too  painful  subject." 

De  Courval  said,  "I  have  much  to  thank  you  for, 
but  for  nothing  as  for  this  confidence. ' ' 

"Yet  a  word,  Rene.  For  some  men— some  young 
men— to  know  what  now  you  know  of  me,  would 
disturb  the  intimacy  of  their  relation.  I  would 
have  it  continue  simple.  So  let  it  be,  my  son.  Come, 
let  us  go.  How  still  the  woods  are !  There  is  here  a 
quiet  that  hath  the  quality  of  a  gentle  confessor  who 
hears  and  will  never  tell.  Listen  to  that  owl ! ' ' 

As  they  drew  near  to  the  house  the  German  said : 
"  Ach,  I  forgot.  In  December  I  suppose  we  must  go 
to  the  city.  You  are  not  as  yet  fit  for  steady  work ; 
but  if  I  can  arrange  it  with  Wynne,  why  not  let  me 
use  you?  I  have  more  to  do  here  and  in  New  York 
than  I  like.  Now,  do  not  be  foolish  about  it.  There 
are  rents  to  gather  in,  journeys  to  make.  Let 
me  give  you  five  hundred  livres  a  month.  You  will 
have  time  to  ride,  read,  and  see  the  country.  I 
shall  talk  to  Hugh  Wynne  about  the  matter. ' '  Thus, 
after  some  discussion  and  some  protest,  it  was  ar 
ranged,  the  young  man  feeling  himself  in  such  rela 
tion  to  the  older  friend  as  made  this  adjustment 
altogether  agreeable  and  a  glad  release  from  a  return 
to  the  routine  of  the  counting-house. 

Too  often  the  thought  of  Carteaux  haunted  him, 
while  he  wondered  how  many  in  France  were  thus 
attended.  When  in  after  years  he  saw  go  by  men 


234  THE  BED  CITY 

who  had  been  the  lesser  agents  in  the  massacres,  or 
those  who  had  brought  the  innocent  to  the  guillotine, 
he  wondered  at  the  impunity  with  which  all  save 
Marat  had  escaped  the  personal  vengeance  of  those 
who  mourned,  and,  mourning,  did  nothing.  Even 
during  the  Terror,  when  death  seemed  for  so  many  a 
thing  to  face  smiling,  the  man  who  daily  sent  to  the 
guillotine  in  Paris  or  the  provinces  uncounted  thou 
sands,  walked  the  streets  unguarded,  and  no  one, 
vengeful,  struck.  In  fact,  the  Terror  seemed  to 
paralyze  even  the  will  of  the  most  reckless.  Not  so 
felt  the  young  noble.  He  hungered  for  the  hour  of 
relief,  let  it  bring  what  it  might. 

The  simple  and  wholesome  life  of  the  Quaker 
household  had  done  much  to  satisfy  the  vicomtesse, 
whose  life  had  never  of  late  years  been  one  of  great 
luxury,  and  as  she  slowly  learned  English,  she  came 
to  recognize  the  qualities  of  refinement  and  self- 
sacrifice  which,  with  unusual  intelligence,  made  Mrs. 
Swanwick  acceptably  interesting.  It  became  her 
custom  at  last  to  be  more  down-stairs,  and  to  sit  with 
her  embroidery  and  talk  while  the  knitting-needles 
clicked  and  the  ball  of  wool  hanging  by  its  silver 
hoop  from  the  Quaker  lady's  waist  grew  smaller. 
Sometimes  they  read  aloud,  French  or  English,  or, 
with  her  rare  smile,  the  vicomtesse  would  insist  on 
sharing  some  small  household  duty.  The  serene  at 
mosphere  of  the  household,  and  what  Schmidt  called 
the  gray  religion  of  Friends,  suited  the  Huguenot 
lady.  As  concerned  her  son,  she  was  less  at  ease, 
and  again,  with  some  anxiety,  she  had  spoken  to 
him  of  his  too  evident  pleasure  in  the  society  of 


THE  RED  CITY  235 

Margaret,  feeling  strongly  that  two  such  young  and 
attractive  people  might  fall  easily  into  relations 
which  could  end  only  in  disappointment  for  one  or 
both.  The  girl's  mother  was  no  less  disturbed,  and 
Schmidt,  as  observant,  but  in  no  wise  troubled, 
looked  on  and,  seeing,  smiled,  somewhat  dreading 
for  Rene  the  inevitable  result  of  a  return  to  town 
and  an  encounter  with  his  enemy. 

Genet  had  at  last  been  recalled,  in  December, 
but,  as  Du  Vallon  told  Schmidt,  Carteaux  was  to 
hold  his  place  as  charge  d'affaires  to  Fauchet,  the 
new  minister,  expected  to  arrive  in  February,  1794. 

On  the  day  following  the  revelations  made  by 
Schmidt,  and  just  after  breakfast,  Margaret  went 
out  into  the  wood  near  by  to  gather  autumn  leaves. 
Seeing  her  disappear  among  the  trees,  De  Courval 
presently  followed  her.  Far  in  the  woods  he  came 
upon  her  seated  at  the  foot  of  a  great  tulip-tree. 
The  basket  at  her  side  was  full  of  club  moss  and 
gaily  tinted  toadstools.  The  red  and  yellow  leaves 
of  maple  and  oak,  falling  on  her  hair  and  her  gray 
gown,  made,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  a  pleasant  picture. 

De  Courval  threw  himself  at  her  feet  on  the 
ground  covered  with  autumn's  lavished  colors. 

"We  have  nothing  like  this  in  France.  How 
wonderful  it  is ! " 

1 1  Yes, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  it  is  finer  than  ever  I  saw  it. ' ' 
Then,  not  looking  up,  she  added,  after  a  pause,  the 
hands  he  watched  still  busy:  "Why  didst  thou  not 
bring  me  any  goldenrod  last  evening?  I  asked 
thee." 

"I  saw  none." 


236  THE  BED  CITY 

"Ah,  but  there  is  still  plenty,  or  at  least  there  are 
asters.  I  think  thou  must  have  been  gathering 
pensees,  as  thy  mother  calls  them;  pansies,  we  say." 

"Yes,  thoughts,  thoughts,"  he  returned  with  sud 
den  gravity— "pensees." 

"They  must  have  been  of  my  cousin  Shippen  or 
of  Fanny  Cadwalader,  only  she  is  always  laughing. ' ' 
This  young  woman,  who  still  lives  in  all  her  beauty 
on  Stuart's  canvas,  was  to  end  her  life  in  England. 

"Oh,  neither,  neither,"  he  said  gaily,  "not  I. 
Guess  better. ' ' 

"Then  a  quiet  Quaker  girl  like— ah— like,  per 
haps,  Deborah  Wharton." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No?  Thou  art  hard  to  please,  "she  said.  "Well, 
I  shall  give  them  up— thy  pensees.  They  must  have 
been  freaked  with  jet ;  for  how  serious  thou  art ! ' ' 

"What  is  that— freaked  with  jet?" 

She  laughed  merrily.  ' '  Oh,  what  ignorance !  That 
is  Milton,  Monsieur — 'Lycidas.'  "  She  was  gently 
proud  of  superior  learning. 

"Ah,  I  must  ask  Mr.  Schmidt  of  it.  I  have  much 
to  learn." 

"I  would,"  and  her  hands  went  on  with  their 
industry  of  selecting  the  more  brilliantly  colored 
leaves.  "I  have  given  thee  something  to  think  of. 
Tell  me,  now,  what  were  the  thoughts  of  jet  in  thy 
pensees— the  dark  thoughts." 

"I  cannot  tell  thee.  Some  day  thou  wilt  know, 
and  that  may  be  too  soon,  too  soon" ;  for  he  thought : 
"If  I  kill  that  man,  what  will  they  think  of  revenge, 
of  the  guilt  of  blood,  these  gentle  Quaker  people?" 


THE  BED  CITY  237 

Aloud  he  said :  * '  You  cannot  think  these  thoughts  of 
mine,  and  I  am  glad  you  cannot. ' ' 

He  was  startled  as  she  returned  quickly,  without 
looking  up  from  her  work :  '  *  How  dost  thou  know 
what  I  think?  It  is  something  that  will  happen," 
and,  the  white  hands  moving  with  needless  quickness 
among  the  gaily  tinted  leaves,  she  added :  "I  do  not 
like  change,  or  new  things,  or  mysteries.  Does  Ma 
dame,  thy  mother,  think  to  leave  us?  My  mother 
would  miss  her." 

' '  And  you  ?    Would  not  you  a  little  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  of  course;  and  so  would  friend  Schmidt. 
There,  my  basket  will  hold  no  more.  How  pretty 
they  are !  But  thou  hast  not  answered  me. ' ' 

*  *  We  are  not  thinking  of  any  such  change. ' ' 

"Well,  so  far  that  is  good  news.  But  I  am  still 
curious.  Mr.  Schmidt  did  once  say  the  autumn  has 
no  answers.  I  think  thou  art  like  it."  She  rose 
as  she  spoke. 

"Ah,  but  the  spring  may  make  reply  in  its  time- 
in  its  time.  Let  me  carry  thy  basket,  Miss  Mar 
garet.  ' '  She  gave  it  to  him  with  the  woman 's  likkig 
to  be  needlessly  helped. 

"I  am  very  gay  with  red  and  gold,"  she  cried, 
and  shook  the  leaves  from  her  hair  and  gown.  "It 
is  worse  than  the  brocade  and  the  sea-green  petticoat 
my  wicked  cousins  put  on  me. ' '  She  could  laugh  at 
it  now. 

"But  what  would  Friends  say  to  the  way  the  fine 
milliner,  Nature,  has  decked  thee,  Mademoiselle? 
They  would  forgive  thee,  I  think.  Mr.  Schmidt  says 
the  red  and  gold  lie  thick  on  the  unnamed  graves 


238  THE  BED  CITY 

at  Fourth  and  Mulberry  streets,  and  no  Quaker  doth 
protest  with  a  broom. ' ' 

"He  speaks  in  a  strange  way  sometimes.  I  often 
wonder  where  he  learned  it." 

' '  Why  dost  thou  not  ask  him  « ' ' 

' i  I  should  not  dare.    He  might  not  like  it. ' ' 

"But  thou  art,  it  seems,  more  free  to  question 
some  other  people." 

"Oh,  but  that  is  different;  and,  Monsieur,"  she 
said  demurely,  "thou  must  not  say  thou  and  thee  to 
me.  Thy  mother  says  it  is  not  proper." 

He  laughed.  "If  I  am  thou  for  thee,  were  it  not 
courteous  to  speak  to  thee  in  thy  own  tongue  ? ' ' 

She  colored,  remembering  the  lesson  and  her  own 
shrewd  guess  at  the  lady's  meaning,  and  how,  as 
she  was  led  to  infer,  to  tutoyer,  to  say  thou,  inferred 
a  certain  degree  of  intimacy.  "It  is  not  fitting  here 
except  among  Friends." 

'  *  And  why  not  ?    In  France  we  do  it. ' ' 

"Yes,  sometimes,  I  have  so  heard."  But  to  ex 
plain  further  was  far  from  her  intention.  "It 
sounds  foolish  here,  in  people  who  are  not  of 
Friends.  I  said  so—" 

"But  are  we  not  friends?" 

"I  said  Friends  with  a  big  F,  Monsieur." 

"I  make  my  apologies,"— he  laughed  with  a  for 
mal  bow,— "but  one  easily  catches  habits  of  talk." 

' '  Indeed,  I  am  in  earnest,  and  thou  must  mend  thy 
habits.  Friend  Marguerite  Swanwick  desires  to  be 
excused  of  the  Vicomte  de  Courval,"  and,  smiling, 
she  swept  the  courtesy  of  reply  to  his  bow  as  the 
autumn  leaves  fell  from  the  gathered  skirts. 


THE  BED  CITY  230 

"As  long  as  thou  art  thou,  it  will  be  hard  to 
obey,"  he  said,  and  she  making  no  reply,  they  wan 
dered  homeward  through  level  shafts  of  sunlight, 
while  fluttering  overhead  on  wings  of  red  and  gold, 
the  cupids  of  the  forest  enjoyed  the  sport,  and  the 
young  man  murmured :  ' '  Thou  and  thee, ' '  dreaming 
of  a  walk  with  her  in  his  own  Normandy  among  the 
woodlands  his  boyhood  knew. 

' '  Thou  art  very  silent, 7 '  she  said  at  last. 

"No,  I  am  talking;  but  not  to  you— of  you,  per 
haps." 

"Indeed,"  and  she  ceased  to  express  further  de 
sire  to  be  enlightened,  and  fell  to  asking  questions 
about  irregular  French  verbs. 

Just  before  they  reached  the  house,  Margaret  said : 
* c  I  have  often  meant  to  ask  thee  to  tell  me  what  thou 
didst  do  in  the  city.  Friend  Schmidt  said  to  mother 
that  Stephen  Girard  could  not  say  too  much  of  thee. 
Tell  me  about  it,  please. ' ' 

"No,"  he  returned  abruptly.  "It  is  a  thing  to 
forget,  not  to  talk  about. ' ' 

* '  How  secretive  thou  art ! ' '  she  said,  pouting, ' '  and 
thou  wrilt  never,  never  speak  of  France."  In  an  in 
stant  she  knew  she  had  been  indiscreet  as  he  re 
turned  : 

"Nor  ever  shall.    Certainly  not  now." 

"Not— not  even  to  me?" 

' l  No. ' '    His  mind  was  away  in  darker  scenes. 

Piqued  and  yet  sorry,  she  returned,  "Thou  art 
as  abrupt  as  Daniel  Offley. ' ' 

"Mademoiselle!" 

"What  have  I  said?" 


240  THE  BED  CITY 

"Daniel  Offley  is  dead.  I  carried  him  into  his  own 
house  to  die,  a  brave  man  when  few  were  brave. " 

"I  have  had  my  lesson,"  she  said.  There  were 
tears  in  her  eyes,  a  little  break  in  her  voice. 

1 '  And  I,  Pearl ;  and  God  was  good  to  me. ' ' 

"And  to  me,"  she  sobbed;  "I  beg  thy  pardon- 
but  I  want  to  say — I  must  say  that  thou  too  wert 
brave,  oh,  as  brave  as  any— for  I  know — I  have 
heard." 

"Oh,  Pearl,  you  must  not  say  that!  I  did  as 
others  did."  She  had  heard  him  call  her  Pearl  un- 
reproved,  or  had  she  not?  He  would  set  a  guard 
on  his  tongue.  "It  is  chilly.  Let  us  go  in,"  for 
they  had  stood  at  the  gate  as  they  talked. 

It  was  their  last  walk,  for  soon  the  stripped  trees 
and  the  ground  were  white  with  an  early  snowfall 
and  the  autumn  days  had  gone,  and  on  the  first  of 
December  reluctantly  they  moved  to  the  city. 


XVI 

E1AST  of  all  did  De  Courval  like  the  change  to 
the  busy  life  of  the  city.  A  growing  love,  which 
he  knew  would  arouse  every  prejudice  his  mother 
held  dear,  occupied  his  mind  when  he  was  not  busy 
with  Schmidt's  affairs  or  still  indecisively  on  the 
outlook  for  his  enemy.  Genet,  dismissed,  had  gone 
to  New  York  to  live,  where  later  he  married  De  Witt 
Clinton's  sister,  being  by  no  means  willing  to  risk 
his  head  in  France.  His  secretary,  as  De  Courval 
soon  heard,  was  traveling  until  the  new  minister 
arrived.  Thus  for  the  time  left  more  at  ease,  De 
Courval  fenced,  rode,  and  talked  with  Schmidt. 

December  of  this  calamitous  year  went  by  and 
the  rage  of  parties  increased.  Neither  French 
nor  English  spared  our  commerce.  The  latter  took 
the  French  islands,  and  over  a  hundred  and  thirty 
of  our  ships  were  seized  as  carriers  of  provisions 
and  ruthlessly  plundered,  their  crews  impressed  and 
many  vessels  left  to  rot,  uncared  for,  at  the  wharves 
of  San  Domingo  and  Martinique.  A  nation  without 
a  navy,  we  were  helpless.  There  was  indeed  enough 
wrong  done  by  our  old  ally  and  by  the  mother- 
country  to  supply  both  parties  in  America  with  good 
reasons  for  war. 

The  whole  land  was  in  an  uproar  and  despite 
the  news  of  the  Terror  in  France,  the  Jacobin  clubs 
multiplied  in  many  cities  North  and  South,  and 

16 


242  THE  RED  CITY 

broke  out  in  the  wildest  acts  of  folly.  In  Charleston 
they  pulled  down  the  statue  of  the  great  statesman 
Pitt.  The  Democratic  Club  of  that  city  asked  to  be 
affiliated  with  the  Jacobin  Club  in  Paris,  while  the 
city  council  voted  to  use  no  longer  the  absurd  titles 
"Your  Honour"  and  "Esquire." 

Philadelphia  was  not  behindhand  in  folly,  but  it 
took  no  official  form.  The  astronomer  Rittenhouse, 
head  of  the  Republican  Club,  appeared  one  day  at 
the  widow's  and  showed  Schmidt  a  copy  of  a  letter 
addressed  to  the  Vestry  of  Christ  Church.  He  was 
full  of  it,  and  when,  later,  Mr.  Jefferson  appeared, 
to  get  the  chocolate  and  the  talk  he  dearly  liked, 
Rittenhouse  would  have  had  him  sign  the  appeal. 

"This,  Citizen,"  said  the  astronomer,  "will  in 
terest  and  please  you." 

The  Secretary  read,  with  smiling  comments :  "  *  To 
the  Vestry  of  Christ  Church:  It  is  the  wish  of  the 
respectable  citizens  that  you  cause  to  be  removed 
the  image  of  George  the  Second  from  the  gable  of 
Christ  Church.'  Why  not?"  said  the  Secretary,  as 
he  continued  to  read  aloud:  "  'These  marks  of  in 
famy  cause  the  church  to  be  disliked. '  ' 

"Why  not  remove  the  church,  too?"  said  Schmidt. 

"  'T  is  of  as  little  use,"  said  Jefferson,  and  this 
Mrs.  Swanwick  did  not  like.  She  knew  of  his  dis 
belief  in  all  that  she  held  dear. 

' '  Thou  wilt  soon  get  no  chocolate  here, ' '  she  said ; 
for  she  feared  no  one  and  at  times  was  outspoken. 

"Madame,  I  shall  go  to  meeting  next  First  Day 
with  the  citizen  Friends.  My  chocolate,  please." 
He  read  on,  aloud :  "  'It  has  a  tendency  to  keep  the 


THE  BED  CITY  243 

young  and  virtuous  away.'  That  is  you  and  I,  Rit- 
tenhouse— 'the  young  and  virtuous/  '  But  he 
did  not  sign,  and  returned  this  amazing  document, 
remarking  that  his  name  was  hardly  needed. 

"They  have  refused,"  said  the  astronomer,  "ac 
tually  refused,  and  it  is  to  be  removed  by  outraged 
citizens  to-day,  I  hear.  A  little  more  chocolate, 
Citess,  and  a  bun— please." 

"Citess,  indeed!  When  thou  art  hungry  enough 
to  speak  the  King's  English,"  said  Mrs.  Swanwick, 
'  *  thou  shalt  have  thy  chocolate ;  and  if  thy  grammar 
be  very  good,  there  will  be  also  a  slice  of  sally-lunn. ' ' 

The  philosopher  repented,  and  was  fed,  while 
Schmidt  remarked  on  the  immortality  a  cake  may 
confer ;  but  who  Sally  was,  no  one  knew. 

"You  will  be  pleased  to  hear,  Rittenhouse,  that 
Dr.  Priestly  is  come  to  the  city, ' '  said  the  Secretary. 
"He  is  at  the  Harp  and  Crown  on  Third  Street." 

'  *  I  knew  him  in  England, ' '  said  Schmidt ;  "  I  will 
call  on  him  to-day.  A  great  chemist,  Rene,  and 
the  finder  of  a  new  gas  called  oxygen." 

When  the  star-gazer  had  gone  away  the  Sec 
retary,  after  some  talk  about  the  West  Indian  out 
rages,  said:  "I  shall  miss  your  chocolate,  Madame, 
and  my  visits.  You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of  the 
cabinet  changes." 

' '  Some  rumors,  only, ' '  said  Schmidt. 

"I  have  resigned,  and  go  back  to  my  home  and 
my  farming.  Mr.  Hamilton  will  also  fall  out  this 
January,  and  General  Knox,  ^no  very  great  loss. 
Colonel  Pickering  takes  his  place." 

' '  And  who  succeeds  Hamilton,  sir  ? " 


244  THE  BED  CITY 

"Oh,  his  satellite,  Wolcott.  The  ex-Secretary 
means  to  pull  the  wires  of  his  puppets.  He  loves 
power,  as  I  do  not.  But  the  chocolate,  alas ! ' ' 

"And  who,  may  I  ask,"  said  Mrs.  Swanwick,  "is 
to  follow  thee,  Friend  Jefferson  ? ' ' 

"Edmund  Randolph,  I  believe.  Bradford  will 
have  his  place  of  Attorney-General.  And  now  you 
have  all  my  gossip,  Madame,  and  I  leave  next  week. 
I  owe  you  many  thanks  for  the  pleasant  hours  in 
your  home.  Good-by,  Mr.  Schmidt;  and  Vicomte, 
may  I  ask  to  be  remembered  to  your  mother  ?  I  shall 
hope  to  be  here  now  and  then. ' ' 

"We  shall  miss  thee,  Friend  Jefferson,"  said  the 
widow. 

"I  would  not  lessen  thy  regrets,"  he  said.  "Ah, 
one  lingers."  He  kissed  the  hand  he  held,  his 
bright  hazel  eyes  aglow.  i '  Good-by,  Miss  Margaret. ' ' 
And  bowing  low,  he  left  them. 

Schmidt  looked  after  him,  smiling. 

"Now  thou  art  of  a  mind  to  say  naughty  things 
of  my  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Swanwick.  "I  know  thy 
ways. ' ' 

"I  was,  but  I  meant  only  to  criticize  his  politics. 
An  intelligent  old  fox  with  golden  eyes.  He  is  of 
no  mind  to  accept  any  share  of  the  trouble  this 
English  treaty  will  make,  and  this  excise  tax." 

Rene,  who  was  beginning  to  understand  the  diffi 
culties  in  a  cabinet  where  there  was  seldom  any 
unanimity  of  opinion,  said:  "There  will  be  more 
peace  for  the  President." 

"And  less  helpful  heads,"  said  Schmidt.  "Ham 
ilton  is  a  great  loss,  and  Jefferson  in  some  respects. 


THE  BED  CITY  245 

They  go  not  well  in  double  harness.  Come,  Rene,  let 
us  go  and  see  the  philosopher.  I  knew  him  well. 
Great  men  are  rare  sights.  A  Jacobin  philosopher ! 
But  there  are  no  politics  in  gases. ' ' 

The  chemist  was  not  at  home,  and  hearing  shouts 
and  unusual  noise  on  Second  Street,  they  went 
through  Church  Alley  to  see  what  might  be  the 
cause.  A  few  hundred  men  and  boys  of  the  lower 
class  were  gathered  in  front  of  Christ  Church, 
watched  by  a  smaller  number  of  better-dressed  per 
sons,  who  hissed  and  shouted,  but  made  no  attempt 
to  interfere  when,  apparently  unmolested,  a  man,  let 
down  from  the  roof  of  the  gable,  tore  off  the  leaden 
medallion  of  the  second  George 1  amid  the  cheering 
and  mad  party  cries  of  the  mob. 

Schmidt  said:  "Now  they  can  say  their  prayers 
in  peace,  these  Jacobin  Christians/' 

In  one  man's  mind  there  was  presently  small 
thought  of  peace.  When  the  crowd  began  to  scatter, 
well  pleased,  Schmidt  saw  beside  him  De  la  Foret, 
consul-general  of  France,  and  with  him  Carteaux. 
He  threw  his  great  bulk  and  broad  shoulders  be 
tween  De  Courval  and  the  Frenchmen,  saying:  "Let 
us  go.  Come,  Rene." 

As  he  spoke,  Carteaux,  now  again  in  the  service, 
said:  "We  do  it  better  in  France,  Citizen  Consul. 
The  Committee  of  Safety  and  Pere  C.outhon  would 
have  shortened  the  preacher  by  a  head.  Oh,  they  are 
leaving.  Have  you  seen  the  caricature  of  the  aris 
tocrat  Washington  on  the  guillotine?  It  has  made 
the  President  swear,  I  am  told." 

1  The  leaden  bas-relief  has  since  been  replaced. 


246  THE  EED  CITY 

As  he  spoke,  Be  Courval's  attention  was  caught 
by  the  French  accents  and  something  in  the  voice, 
and  he  turned  to  see  the  stranger  who  spoke  thus 
insolently. 

"Not  here,  Rene.  No!  no!"  said  Schmidt.  He 
saw  De  Courval's  face  grow  white  as  he  had  seen  it 
once  before. 

' '  Let  us  go, ' '  said  De  la  Foret. 

"A  feeble  mob  of  children,"  returned  Carteaux. 

As  he  spoke,  De  Courval  struck  him  a  single  savage 
blow  full  in  the  face. 

' '  A  fight !  a  fight ! ' '  cried  the  crowd.  ' '  Give  them 
room !  A  ring !  a  ring ! ' ' 

There  was  no  fight  in  the  slighter  man,  who  lay 
stunned  and  bleeding,  while  Rene  struggled  in 
Schmidt's  strong  arms,  wild  with  rage. 

"You  have  done  enough,"  said  the  German; 
"come!"  Rene,  silent,  himself  again,  stared  at  the 
fallen  man. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  outrage?"  said  De 
la  Foret.  "Your  name,  sir?" 

"I  am  the  Vicomte  de  Courval,"  said  Rene,  per 
fectly  cool.  "You  will  find  me  at  Madame  Swan- 
wick's  on  Front  Street." 

Carteaux  was  sitting  upon  the  sidewalk,  still 
dazed  and  bleeding.  The  crowd  looked  on.  l '  He  hits 
hard,"  said  one. 

"Come,  Rene,"  said  the  German,  and  they  walked 
away,  Rene  still  silent. 

"I  supposed  it  would  come  soon  or  late,"  said 
Schmidt.  "We  shall  hear  from  them  to-mor 
row." 


struggled  iu  Schmidt's  arms,  wild  with  rage" 


THE  BED  CITY  249 

"Mon  Dieu,  but  I  am  glad.  It  is  a  weight  off  my 
mind.  I  shall  kill  him. ' ' 

Schmidt  was  hardly  as  sure.  Neither  man  spoke 
again  until  they  reached  home. 

"Come  to  my  room,  Rene/'  said  the  German 
after  supper.  "I  want  to  settle  that  ground-rent 
business. ' ' 

As  they  sat  down,  he  was  struck  with  the  young 
man's  look  of  elation.  "Oh,  my  pipe  first.  Where 
is  it  ?  Ah,  here  it  is.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ? " 

"Do?  I  do  not  mean  to  let  him  think  it  was 
only  the  sudden  anger  of  a  French  gentleman  at  a 
Jacobin's  vile  speech.  He  must  know  why  I  struck." 

"That  seems  reasonable." 

"But  I  shall  not  involve  in  my  quarrel  a  man  of 
your  rank.  I  shall  ask  Du  Vallon. ' ' 

"Shall  you,  indeed!  There  is  wanted  here 
a  friend  and  an  older  head.  What  rank  had  I 
when  you  saw  me  through  my  deadly  duel  with 
El  Vomito?  Now,  no  more  of  that."  De  Courval 
yielded. 

"I  shall  write  to  him  and  explain  my  action.  He 
may  put  it  as  he  pleases  to  others. ' ' 

"I  see  no  better  way.  Write  now,  and  let  me  see 
your  letter. ' ' 

Rene  sat  at  the  table  and  wrote  while  Schmidt 
smoked,  a  troubled  and  thoughtful  man.  "He  is  no 
match  for  .that  fellow  with  the  sword;  and  yet"— 
and  he  moved  uneasily— "it  will  be,  on  the  whole, 
better  than  the  pistol."  Any  thought  of  adjust 
ment  or  of  escape  from  final  resort  to  the  duel  he 
did  not  consider.  It  would  have  been  out  of  the 


250  THE  BED  CITY 

question  for  himself  and,  as  he  saw  it,  for  any  man 
of  his  beliefs  and  training. 

' '  Here  it  is,  sir, ' '  said  Rene.  The  German  gentle 
man  laid  down  his  long  pipe  and  read : 

SIR  :  I  am  desirous  that  you  should  not  consider  my  action 
as  the  result  of  what  you  said  in  my  hearing  to  M.  de  la 
Foret.  I  am  the  Vicomte  de  Courval.  In  the  massacre  at 
Avignon  on  the  twelfth  of  September,  1791,  when  my 
father  was  about  to  be  released  by  Jourdan,  your  voice 
alone  called  for  his  condemnation.  I  saw  him  die,  butchered 
before  my  eyes.  This  is  why  I  struck  you. 

Louis  RENE  DE  COURVAL. 

1 '  That  will  do, ' '  said  Schmidt.  ' '  He  shall  have  it 
to-night.  You  will  have  a  week  to  spend  with  Du 
Vallon.  No  prudent  man  would  meet  you  in  the 
condition  in  which  you  left  him. ' ' 

"I  suppose  not.  I  can  wait.  I  have  waited  long. 
I  regret  the  delay  chiefly  because  in  this  city  every 
thing  is  known  and  talked  about,  and  before  we  can 
end  the  matter  it  will  be  heard  of  here. ' ' 

"Very  probably;  but  no  one  will  speak  of  it  be 
fore  your  mother,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  these 
good  people  will  ask  no  questions,  and  only  wonder 
and  not  realize  what  must  come  out  of  it. ' ' 

"Perhaps,  perhaps."  He  was  not  so  sure  and 
wished  to  end  it  at  once. 

It  had  been  in  his  power  to  have  made  the  social 
life  of  the  better  republicans  impossible  for  his 
father's  murderer;  but  this  might  have  driven  Car- 
teaux  away  and  was  not  what  he  desired.  The  con 
stant  thought  of  his  mother  had  kept  him  as 


THE  BED  CITY  251 

undecided  as  Hamlet,  but  now  a  sudden  burst  of 
anger  had  opened  the  way  to  what  he  longed  for. 
He  was  glad. 

When,  that  night,  Jean  Carteaux  sat  up  in  bed 
and  read  by  dim  candlelight  De  Courval's  letter,  he, 
too,  saw  again  the  great  hall  at  Avignon  and  re 
called  the  blood  madness.  His  Jacobin  alliances  had 
closed  to  him  in  Philadelphia  the  houses  of  the  Eng 
lish  party  and  the  Federalists,  and  in  the  society 
he  frequented,  at  the  official  dinners  of  the  cabinet 
officers,  he  had  never  seen  De  Courval,  nor,  indeed, 
heard  of  him,  or,  if  at  all  casually,  without  his  title 
and  as  one  of  the  many  emigres  nobles  with  whom 
he  had  no  social  acquaintance.  It  was  the  resurrec 
tion  of  a  ghost  of  revenge.  He  had  helped  to  send 
to  the  guillotine  others  as  innocent  as  Jean  de  Cour 
val,  and  then,  at  last,  not  without  fear  of  his  own 
fate,  had  welcomed  the  appointment  of  commis 
sioner  to  San  Domingo  and,  on  his  return  to  France, 
had  secured  the  place  of  secretary  to  Genet's  lega 
tion.  The  mockery  of  French  sentiment  in  the  clubs 
of  the  American  cities,  the  cockades,  and  red  bonnets, 
amused  him.  It  recoiled  from  personal  violence, 
and  saying  wild  things,  did  nothing  of  serious  moment. 
The  good  sense  and  the  trust  of  the  great  mass  of 
the  people  throughout  the  country  in  one  man  prom 
ised  little  of  value  to  France,  as  Carteaux  saw  full 
well  when  the  recall  of  Genet  was  demanded.  He 
felt  the  chill  of  failure  in  this  cooler  air,  but  was  of 
no  mind  to  return  to  his  own  country.  He  was  in 
telligent,  and,  having  some  means,  meant  that  his 
handsome  face  should  secure  for  him  an  American 


252  THE  EED  CITY 

wife,  and  with  her  a  comfortable  dowry;  for  who 
knew  of  his  obscure  life  in  Paris?  And  now  here 
was  that  affair  at  Avignon  and  the  ruin  of  his  plans. 
He  would  at  least  close  one  mouth  and  deny  what 
it  might  have  uttered.  There  was  no  other  way,  and 
for  the  rest  '-well,  a  French  emigre  had  heard 
him  speak  rashly  and  had  been  brutal.  The 
Jacobin  clubs  would  believe  and  stand  by  him. 
De  la  Foret  must  arrange  the  affair,  and  so  far 
this  insolent  ci-devant  could  have  said  nothing  else 
of  moment. 

De  la  Foret  called  early  the  next  day,  and  was 
referred  to  Schmidt  as  Rene  left  the  room.  No 
pacific  settlement  was  discussed  or  even  mentioned. 
The  consul,  well  pleased,  accepted  the  sword  as  the 
weapon,  and  this  being  Sunday,  on  Thursday  at 
7  A.M.  there  would  be  light  enough,  and  they  would 
cross  on  the  ice  to  New  Jersey;  for  this  year  one 
could  sleigh  from  the  city  to  the  capes,  and  from 
New  York  to  Cape  Cod— or  so  it  was  said. 

Meanwhile  the  Jacobin  clubs  rang  with  the  insult 
to  a  French  secretary,  and  soon  it  was  the  talk  in  the 
well-pleased  coffee-houses  and  at  the  tables  of  the 
great  merchants.  Rene  said  nothing,  refusing  to 
gratify  those  who  questioned  him. 

"A  pity,"  said  Mrs.  Chew  to  Penn,  the  Governor, 
as  men  still  called  him.  "And  why  was  it?  The 
young  man  is  so  serious  and  so  quiet  and,  as  I  hear, 
religious.  I  have  seen  him  often  at  Christ  Church 
with  his  mother,  or  at  Gloria  Dei. ' ' 

'  *  One  can  get  a  good  deal  of  religion  into  a  blow, ' ' 
remarked  Hamilton,  "or  history  lies.  The  man  in- 


THE  BED  CITY  253 

suited  him,  I  am  told,  and  the  vicomte  struck  him. ' ' 
Even  Hamilton  knew  no  more  than  this. 

"Still,  there  are  milder  ways  of  calling  a  man  to 
account,"  said  young  Thomas  Cadwalader,  while 
Hamilton  smiled,  remembering  that  savage  duel  in 
which  John  Cadwalader,  the  father,  had  punished 
the  slanderer,  General  Conway. 

"Will  there  be  a  fight?"  said  Mrs.  Byrd. 

"Probably,"  said  Penn,  and  opinion  among  the 
Federals  was  all  for  the  vicomte.  Meanwhile  no 
one  spoke  of  the  matter  at  the  widow's  quiet  house, 
where  just  now  the  severe  winter  made  social  visits 
rare. 

As  for  De  Courval  he  fenced  daily  with  Du  Val- 
lon,  who  was  taken  into  their  confidence  and  shared 
Schmidt's  increasing  anxiety. 


XVII 

ON  Thursday,  at  the  dawn  of  a  gloomy  winter 
morning,  the  two  sleighs  crossed  over  a  mile  of 
ice  to  the  Jersey  shore.  Large  flakes  of  snow  were 
falling  as  Schmidt  drove,  the  little  doctor,  Chovet, 
beside  him,  De  Courval  silent  on  the  back  seat.  Noth 
ing  could  keep  Chovet  quiet  very  long.  "I  was  in  the 
duel  of  Laurens,  the  President  of  the  Congress.  Oh, 
it  was  to  be  on  Christmas  Day  and  near  to  Seven 
Street.  Mr.  Penn— oh,  not  the  fat  governor  but  the 
senator  from  Georgia— he  slipped  in  the  mud  on 
the  way,  and  Laurens  he  help  him  with  a  hand,  and 
they  make  up  all  at  once  and  no  further  go,  and  I 
am  disappoint."  It  was  an  endless  chatter.  "And 
there  was  the  Conway  duel,  too.  Ah,  that  was  good 
business ! ' ' 

Schmidt,  out  of  patience,  said  at  last,  ' '  If  you  talk 
any  more,  I  will  throw  you  out  of  the  sleigh. ' ' 

"Oh,  le  diable!  and  who  then  will  heal  these  which 
go  to  stick  one  the  other  ?  Ha !  I  ask  of  you  that  ? ' ' 

"The  danger  will  be  so  much  the  less/'  said 
Schmidt.  Chovet  was  silenced. 

On  the  shore  they  met  De  la  Foret  and  Carteaux. 
and  presently  found  in  the  woods  an  open  space 
with  little  snow.  The  two  men  stripped  to  the  shirt, 
and  were  handed  the  dueling-swords,  Schmidt  whis 
pering  :  "  Be  cool ;  no  temper  here.  Wait  to  attack. ' ' 

254 


THE  KED  CITY  255 

"And  now,"  said  the  consul,  as  the  seconds  fell 
back,  "on  guard,  Messieurs!" 

Instantly  the  two  blades  rang  sharp  notes  of 
meeting  steel  as  they  crossed  and  clashed  in  the 
cold  morning  air.  '  *  He  is  lost ! ' '  murmured 
Schmidt.  The  slighter  man  attacked  furiously, 
shifting  his  ground,  at  first  imprudently  sure  of 
his  foe.  A  prick  in  the  chest  warned  him.  Then 
there  was  a  mad  interchange  of  quick  thrusts  and 
more  or  less  competent  defense,  when  De  Courval, 
staggering,  let  fall  his  rapier  and  dropped,  while 
Carteaux,  panting,  stood  still. 

Schmidt  knelt  down.  It  was  a  deep  chest  wound 
and  bled  but  little  outwardly.  De  Courval,  cough 
ing  up  foamy  blood,  gasped,  "It  is  over  for  a  time — 
over."  Chovet  saw  no  more  to  do  than  to  get  his 
man  home,  and  so  strangely  does  associative  memory 
play  her  tricks  that  Schmidt,  as  he  rose  in  dismay, 
recalled  the  words  of  the  dying  Mercutio.  Then, 
with  apparent  ease,  he  lifted  Rene,  and,  carrying 
him  to  the  sleigh,  wrapped  him  in  furs,  and  drove 
swiftly  over  the  ice  to  the  foot  of  the  garden. 
"Fasten  the  horse,  Doctor,"  he  said,  "and  follow 
me."  Rene  smiled  as  the  German  carried  him.  "The 
second  time  of  home-coming  wounded.  How  strange ! 
Don't  be  troubled,  sir.  I  do  not  mean  to  die.  Tell 
my  mother  yourself." 

"If  you  die,"  murmured  Schmidt,  "he  shall  fol 
low  you.  Do  not  speak,  Rene." 

He  met  Margaret  on  the  porch.  "What  is  it?" 
she  cried,  as  he  went  by  her  with  his  burden.  l '  What 
is  the  matter?" 


256  THE  BED  CITY 

11 A  duel.  He  is  wounded.  Call  your  mother." 
Not  waiting  to  say  more,  he  went  carefully  up 
stairs,  and  with  Chovet's  help  Rene  was  soon  in  his 
bed.  It  was  quietly  done,  Mrs.  Swanwick,  distressed, 
but  simply  obeying  directions,  asked  no  questions 
and  Margaret,  below-stairs,  outwardly  calm,  her 
Quaker  training  serving  her  well,  was  bidding 
Nanny  to  cease  crying  and  to  get  what  was  needed. 

Once  in  bed,  Rene  said  only,  "My  mother— tell 
her,  at  once. ' '  She  had  heard  at  last  the  quick  haste 
of  unwonted  stir  and  met  Schmidt  at  her  chamber 
door. 

' '  May  I  come  in  ? "  he  asked. 

"Certainly,  Monsieur.  Something  has  happened 
to  Rene.  Is  he  dead?" 

"No;  but,  he  is  hurt— wounded. " 

"Then  tell  me  the  worst  at  once.  I  am  not  of 
those  to  whom  you  must  break  ill  news  gently.  Sit 
down. ' '  He  obeyed  her. 

"Rene  has  had  a  duel.  He  is  badly  wounded  in 
the  lung.  You  cannot  see  him  now.  The  doctor  in 
sists  on  quiet. ' ' 

"And  who  will  stop  me? ".she  said. 

"I,  Madame,"  and  he  stood  between  her  and  the 
door.  ' '  Just  now  you  can  only  do  him  harm.  I  beg 
of  you  to  wait— oh,  patiently— for  days,  perhaps. 
If  he  is  worse,  you  shall  know  it  at  once." 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated.  "I  will  do  as  you 
say.  Who  was  the  man  ? ' ' 

"Carteaux,  Madame." 

* '  Carteaux  here !    Mon  Dieu!    Does  he  live  ? ' ' 

"Yes.    He  was  not  hurt." 


THE  EED  CITY  257 

"And  men  say  there  is  a  God!  Christ  help  me; 
what  is  it  I  have  said?  How  came  he  here,  this 
man?" 

He  told  her  the  whole  story,  she  listening  with 
moveless,  pale,  ascetic  face.  Then  she  rose:  "I  am 
sorry  I  did  not  know  of  this  beforehand.  I  should 
have  prayed  for  my  son  that  he  might  kill  him.  I 
thank  you,  Monsieur.  I  believe  you  love  my  Rene. ' ' 

<(As  if  he  were  my  son,  Madame." 

Days  went  by,  darkened  with  despair  or  bright 
ened  with  faint  hope.  Alas!  who  has  not  known 
them?  The  days  grew  to  weeks.  There  were  no 
longer  guests,  only  anxious  inquirers  and  a  pale, 
drooping  young  woman  and  two  mothers  variously 
troubled. 

But  if  here  there  were  watching  friendship  and 
love  and  service  and  a  man  to  die  to-day  or  to 
morrow  to  live,  in  the  darkened  room  were  spirits 
twain  ever  whispering  love  or  hate.  Outside  of  the 
house  where  De  Courval  lay,  the  Jacobin  clubs 
rejoiced  and  feasted  Carteaux,  who  burned  De 
Courval 's  note  and  held  his  tongue,  while  Fauchet 
complained  of  the  insult  to  his  secretary,  and  Mr. 
Randolph  neither  would  nor  could  do  anything. 

The  February  of  1794  passed,  and  March  and 
.  April,  while  Glentworth,  Washington 's  physician, 
came,  and  afterward  Dr.  Rush,  to  Chovet's  disgust. 
Meanwhile  the  young  man  lay  in  bed  wasting  away 
with  grim  doubts  of  phthisis  in  the  doctors'  minds 
until  in  May  there  was  a  gain,  and,  as  once  before, 
he  was  allowed  a  settle,  and  soon  was  in  the  air  on 
the  upper  porch,  and  could  see  visitors. 


258  THE  BED  CITY 

Schmidt,  more  gaunt  than  ever,  kissed  the  hand 
of  the  vicomtesse  in  his  German  fashion,  as  for  the 
first  time  through  all  the  long  vigils  they  had  shared 
with  Mary  Swanwick  she  thanked  him  for  positive 
assurance  of  recovery. 

"He  is  safe,  you  tell  me.  May  the  God  who  has 
spared  my  son  remember  you  and  bless  you  through 
all  your  days  and  in  all  your  ways !" 

He  bent  low.    "I  have  my  reward,  Madame." 

Some  intuitive  recognition  of  what  was  in  his  mind 
was  perhaps  naturally  in  the  thought  of  both.  She 
said,  "Will  it  end  here?" 

Seeing  before  him  a  face  which  he  could  not  read, 
he  replied,  "It  is  to  be  desired  that  it  end  here,  or 
that  some  good  fortune  put  the  sea  between  these 
two." 

"And  can  you,  his  friend,  say  that?  Not  if  he  is 
the  son  I  bore.  I  trust  not,"  and,  turning  away, 
she  left  him;  while  he  looked  after  her  and  mur 
mured  :  ' '  There  is  more  mother  in  me  than  in  her, ' ' 
and  going  out  to  where  Rene  lay,  he  said  gaily: 
"Out  of  prison  at  last,  my  boy.  A  grim  jail  is 
sickness. ' ' 

"Ah,  to  hear  the  birds  who  are  so  free,"  said 
Rene.  ' '  Are  they  ever  ill,  I  wonder  ? ' ' 

"Mr.  Hamilton  is  below,  Rene— just  come  from 
New  York.  He  has  been  here  twice. ' ' 

"Then  I  shall  hear  of  the  world.  You  have 
starved  me  of  news."  There  was  little  good  to  tell 
him.  The  duke,  their  cousin,  had  fled  from  France, 
and  could  write  to  madame  only  of  the  Terror  and 
of  deaths  and  ruin. 


THE  EED  CITY  259 

The  Secretary  came  up  fresh  with  the  gaiety  of  a 
world  in  which  he  was  still  battling  fiercely  with  the 
Republican  party,  glad  of  the  absence  of  his  rival, 
Jefferson,  who  saw  no  good  in  anything  he  did  or 
said. 

''You  are  very  kind,"  said  De  Courval,  "to  spare 
me  a  little  of  your  time,  sir."  Indeed  he  felt  it. 
Hamilton  sat  down,  smiling  at  the  eagerness  with 
which  Rene  questioned  him. 

"There  is  much  to  tell,  Vicomte.  The  outrages 
on  our  commerce  by  the  English  have  become  unen 
durable,  and  how  we  are  to  escape  war  I  do  not  see. 
An  embargo  has  been  proclaimed  by  the  President; 
it  is  for  thirty  days,  and  will  be  extended  to  thirty 
more.  We  have  many  English  ships  in  our  ports. 
No  one  of  them  can  leave. ' ' 

"That  ought  to  bring  them  to  their  senses,"  said 
Rene. 

' '  It  may, ' '  returned  Hamilton. 

' '  And  what,  sir,  of  the  treaty  with  England  ? ' ' 

Hamilton  smiled.  "I  was  to  have  been  sent,  but 
there  was  too  much  opposition,  and  now,  as  I  think, 
wisely,  Chief -Justice  Jay  is  to  go  to  London." 

"Ah.  Mr.  Hamilton,  if  there  were  but  war  with 
England,— and  there  is  cause  enough,— some  of  us 
poor  exiles  might  find  pleasant  occupation. ' ' 

The  Secretary  became  grave.  "I  would  do  much, 
yield  much,  to  escape  war,  Vicomte.  No  man  of 
feeling  who  has  ever  seen  war  desires  to  see  it 
again.  If  the  memory  of  nations  were  as  retentive 
as  the  memory  of  a  man,  there  would  be  an  end  of 
wars. ' ' 

17 


260  THE  EED  CITY 

"And  yet,  sir,"  said  Rene,  "I  hardly  see  how 
you— how  this  people— endure  what  you  so  quietly 
accept. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes.  No  man  more  than  Washington  feels 
the  additions  of  insult  to  injury.  If  to-day  you 
could  give  him  a  dozen  frigates,  our  answer  to  Eng 
land  would  not  be  a  request  for  a  treaty  which  will 
merely  secure  peace,  and  give  us  that  with  con 
tempt,  and  little  more.  What  it  personally  costs 
that  proud  gentleman,  our  President,  to  preserve  his 
neutral  attitude  few  men  know. ' ' 

Rene  was  pleased  and  flattered  by  the  thoughtful 
gravity  of  the  statesman's  talk. 

' '  I  see,  sir, ' '  he  said.    ' '  There  will  be  no  war. ' ' 

* '  No ;  I  think  not.  I  sincerely  hope  not.  But  now 
I  must  go.  My  compliments  to  your  mother ;  and  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  so  well." 

As  he  went  out,  he  met  Schmidt  in  the  hall.  "Ah, 
why  did  you  not  prevent  this  duel  ? "  he  said. 

"No  man  could,  sir.  It  is,  I  fear,  a  business  to 
end  only  when  one  of  them  dies.  It  dates  far  back 
of  the  blow.  Some  day  we  will  talk  of  it,  but  I  do 
not  like  the  outlook. ' ' 

"Indeed."  He  went  into  the  street  thoughtful. 
In  principle  opposed  to  duels,  he  was  to  die  in  the 
prime  of  life  a  victim  to  the  pistol  of  Burr. 

The  pleasant  May  weather  and  the  open  air 
brought  back  to  De  Courval  health  and  the  joys  of 
life.  The  girl  in  the  garden  heard  once  more  his  bits 
of  French  song,  and  when  June  came  with  roses  he 
was  able  to  lie  on  the  lower  porch,  swinging  at  ease 
in  a  hammock  sent  by  Captain  Biddle,  and  it  seemed 


THE  RED  CITY  261 

as  if  the  world  were  all  kindness.  As  he  lay,  Schmidt 
read  to  him,  and  he  missed  only  Margaret,  ordered 
out  to  the  country  in  the  care  of  Aunt  Gainor,  while, 
as  he  grew  better,  he  had  the  strange  joy  of  senses 
freshened  and  keener  than  in  health,  as  if  he  were 
reborn  to  a  new  heritage  of  tastes  and  odors,  the 
priceless  gift  of  wholesome  convalescence. 

He  asked  no  questions  concerning  Carteaux  or 
what  men  said  of  the  duel ;  but  as  Schmidt,  musing, 
saw  him  at  times  gentle,  pleased,  merry,  or  again 
serious,  he  thought  how  all  men  have  in  them  a  brute 
ancestor  ready  with  a  club.  * '  Just  now  the  devil  is 
asleep."  He  alone,  and  the  mother,  fore-looking, 
knew ;  and  so  the  time  ran  on,  and  every  one  wanted 
him.  The  women  came  with  flowers  and  strawber 
ries,  and  made  much  of  him,  the  gray  mother  not 
ill-pleased. 

In  June  he  was  up,  allowed  to  walk  out  or  to 
lie  in  the  boat  while  Schmidt  caught  white  perch 
or  crabs  and  talked  of  the  many  lands  he  had  seen. 
Then  at  last,  to  Rene's  joy,  he  might  ride. 

"Here,"  said  Schmidt,  "is  a  note  from  Mistress 
Gainor.  We  are  asked  to  dine  and  stay  the  night. 
No,  not  you.  You  are  not  yet  fit  for  dinners  and  gay 
women.  These  doctors  are  cruel.  There  will  be, 
she  writes,  Mr.  Jefferson,  here  for  a  week ;  Mr.  Lang- 
stroth,  and  a  woman  or  two;  and  Wolcott  of  the 
Treasury,  *  if  Hamilton  will  let  him  come, '  she  says. ' ' 
For  perhaps  wisely  the  new  official  followed  the  ex- 
Secretary's  counsels,  to  the  saving  of  much  needless 
thinking.  "A  queer  party  that!"  said  Schmidt. 
"What  new  mischief  are  she  and  the  ex-Quaker 


262  THE  KED  CITY 

Josiah  devising?"  He  would  be  there  at  three,  he 
wrote,  the  groom  having  waited  a  reply. 

"Have  you  any  message  for  Miss  Margaret, 
Rene  ? "  he  asked  next  day. 

"Tell  her  that  all  that  is  left  of  me  remembers 
her  mother's  kindness."  And,  laughing,  he  added: 
1 1  That  there  is  more  of  me  every  day. J ' 

"And  is  that  all?" 

"Yes;  that  is  all.    Is  there  any  news?" 

"None  of  moment.  Oh,  yes,  I  meant  to  tell  you. 
The  heathen  imagine  a  vain  thing— a  fine  republican 
mob  collected  in  front  of  the  Harp  and  Crown  yes 
terday.  There  was  a  picture  set  up  over  the  door 
in  the  war— a  picture  of  the  Queen  of  France.  A 
painter  was  made  to  paint  a  ring  of  blood  around  the 
neck  and  daub  the  clothes  with  red.  If  there  is  a 
fool  devil,  he  must  grin  at  that." 

"Canaille!"  said  Rene.  "Poor  queen!  We  of 
the  religion  did  not  love  her ;  but  to  insult  the  dead ! 
Ah,  a  week  in  Paris  now,  and  these  cowards  would 
fly  in  fear." 

"Yes;  it  is  a  feeble  sham."  And  so  he  left  Rene 
to  his  book  and  rode  away  with  change  of  garments 
in  his  saddle-bags. 


XVIII 

MISS  GAINOR  being  busy  at  her  toilette,  Schmidt 
was  received  at  the  Hill  Farm  by  the  black 
page,  in  red  plush  for  contrast,  and  shown  up  to  his 
room.  He  usually  wore  clothes  of  simple  character 
and  left  the  changing  fashions  to  others.  But  this 
time  he  dressed  as  he  did  rarely,  and  came  down  with 
powdered  hair,  in  maroon-colored  velvet  with  enam 
eled  buttons,  ruffles  at  the  wrists,  and  the  full  lace 
neck-gear  still  known  as  a  Steenkirk. 

Miss  Gainor  envied  him  the  gold  buckles  of  the 
broidered  garters  and  shoes,  and  made  her  best 
courtesy  to  the  stately  figure  which  bent  low  before 
her. 

1  'They  are  late,"  she  said.  "Go  and  speak  to 
Margaret  in  the  garden. ' '  He  found  her  alone  under 
a  great  tulip-tree. 

"Ach!"  he  cried,  "you  are  looking  better.  You 
were  pale."  She  rose  with  a  glad  welcome  as  he 
saw  and  wondered.  "How  fine  we  are,  Pearl!" 

"Are  we  not?  But  Aunt  Gainor  would  have  it. 
I  must  courtesy,  I  suppose." 

The  dress  was  a  compromise.  There  were  still  the 
gray  silks,  the  underskirt,  open  wider  than  common 
in  front,  a  pale  sea-green  petticoat,  and,  alas!  even 
powder— very  becoming  it  seemed  to  the  German 
gentleman.  I  am  helpless  to  describe  the  prettiness 

263 


264  THE  RED  CITY 

of  it.  Aunt  Gainor  had  an  artist's  eye,  though  she 
herself  delighted  in  too  gorgeous  attire. 

He  gave  Margaret  the  home  news  and  his  message 
from  Rene,  and  no;  she  was  not  yet  to  come  to 
town.  It  was  too  hot,  and  not  very  healthy  this 
summer. 

"Why  did  not  the  vicomte  write?"  she  said  with 
some  hesitation.  ' '  That  would  have  been  nicer. ' ' 

"Ach,  guter  Himmel!  Young  men  do  not  write 
to  young  women. ' ' 

' '  But  among  Friends  we  are  more  simple. ' ' 

"Ack,  Friends— and  in  this  gown!  Shall  we  be 
of  two  worlds  1  That  might  have  its  convenience. ' ' 

"Thou  art  naughty,  sir,"  she  said,  and  they  went 
in. 

There  was  Colonel  Lennox  and  his  wife,  whom 
Schmidt  had  not  met,  and  Josiah.  "You  know 
Mrs.  Byrd,  Mr.  Schmidt  ?  Mrs.  Eager  Howard,  may 
I  present  to  you  Mr.  Schmidt  ? ' '  This  was  the  Miss 
Chew  who  won  the  heart  of  the  victor  of  the  Cow- 
pens  battle;  and  last  came  Jefferson,  tall,  meager, 
red-cheeked,  and  wearing  no  powder,  a  lean  figure 
in  black  velvet,  on  a  visit  to  the  city. 

"There  were  only  two  good  noses,"  said  Gainor 
next  day  to  a  woman  with  the  nose  of  a  pug  dog— 
"mine  and  that  man  Schmidt's— Schmidt,  with  a 
nose  like  a  hawk  and  a  jaw  most  predacious." 

For  mischief  she  must  call  Mr.  Jefferson  "Excel 
lency,  ' '  for  had  he  not  been  governor  of  his  State  ? 

He  bowed,  laughing.  "Madame,  I  have  no  liking 
for  titles.  Not  even  those  which  you  confer." 

"Oh,  but  when  you  die,  sir,"  cried  Mrs.  Howard, 


THE  RED  CITY  265 

"and  you  want  to  read  your  title  clear  to  mansions 
in  the  skies?" 

* '  I  shall  want  none  of  them ;  and  there  are  no 
mansions  in  the  skies. ' ' 

"And  no  skies,  sir,  I  suppose,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Byrd.  "Poor  Watts!" 

"In  your  sense  none,"  he  returned.  "How  is  De 
Courval?" 

4 '  Oh,  better ;  much  better. ' ' 

"He  seems  to  get  himself  talked  about,"  said  Mrs. 
Howard.    "A  fine  young  fellow,  too." 

"You  should  set  your  cap  for  him,  Tacy,"  said 
Gainor  to  the  blond  beauty,  Mrs.  Lennox. 

*  *  It  was  set  long  ago  for  my  Colonel, ' '  she  cried. 

"I  am  much  honored,"  said  her  husband,  bowing. 

"She  was  Dr.  Franklin's  last  love-affair,"  cried 
Gainor.  "How  is  that,  Tacy  Lennox?" 

"Fie,  Madam!  He  was  dying  in  those  days,  and, 
yes,  I  loved  him.  There  are  none  like  him  nowa 
days." 

"I  never  thought  much  of  his  nose,"  said  Gainor, 
amid  gay  laughter;  and  they  went  to  dinner,  the 
Pearl  quietly  attentive,  liking  it  well,  and  still  better 
when  Colonel  Howard  turned  to  chat  with  her  and 
found  her  merry  and  shyly  curious  concerning  the 
great  war  she  was  too  young  to  remember  well,  and 
in  regard  to  the  men  who  fought  and  won.  Josiah, 
next  to  Mrs.  Lennox,  contributed  contradictions,  and 
Pickering  was  silent,  liking  better  the  company  of 
men. 

At  dusk,  having  had  their  Madeira,  they  rode 
away,  leaving  only  Margaret  and  Schmidt.  The 


266  THE  BED  CITY 

evening  talk  was  quiet,  and  the  girl,  reluctant,  was 
sent  to  bed  early. 

' '  I  have  a  pipe  for  you, ' '  said  Gainor.  ' '  Come  out 
under  the  trees.  How  warm  it  is ! " 

"You  had  a  queer  party,"  said   Schmidt,  who 
knew  her  well,  and  judged  better  than  many  her  < 
true  character. 

"Yes;  was  it  not?  But  the  women  were  to  your 
liking,  I  am  sure. ' ' 

"Certainly;  but  why  Josiah,  and  what  mischief 
are  you  two  after  ? ' ' 

"I?    Mischief,  sir  1" 

"Yes;  you  do  not  like  him.  You  never  have  him 
here  to  dine  if  you  can  help  it. ' ' 

"No;  but  now  I  am  trying  to  keep  him  out  of 
mischief,  and  to-day  he  invited  himself  to  dine. ' ' 

"Well!"  said  Schmidt,  blowing  great  rings  of 
smoke. 

"General  Washington  was  here  yesterday.  His 
horse  cast  a  shoe,  and  he  must  needs  pay  me  a 
visit.  Oh,  he  was  honest  about  it.  He  looked 
tired  and  aged.  I  shall  grow  old;  but  aged,  sir, 
never.  He  is  deaf,  too.  I  hope  he  may  not  live  to 
lose  his  mind.  I  thought  of  Johnson's  lines  about 
Marlborough." 

"I  do  not  know  them.    What  are  they?" 

"From  Marlb'rough's  eyes  the  streams  of  dotage  flow, 
And  Swift  expires,  a  driv'ler  and  a  show." 

"Yes,"  said  Schmidt  thoughtfully— "yes;  that  is 
the  ending  I  most  should  fear. 

"He  is  clear-headed  enough  to-day;  but  the  men 


THE  EED  CITY  267 

around  him  think  too  much  of  their  own  interests, 
and  he  of  his  country  alone. ' ' 

* '  It  may  be  better  with  this  new  cabinet. ' ' 

"  No ;  there  will  be  less  head. ' ' 

"And  more  heart,  I  hope,"  said  Schmidt. 

* '  I  could  cry  when  I  think  of  that  man 's  life. ' ' 

"Yes,  it  is  sad  enough;  but  suppose,"  said 
Schmidt,  "we  return  to  Josiah." 

"Well,  if  you  must  have  it,  Josiah  has  one  honest 
affection  outside  of  a  love-affair  with  Josiah— Mar 
garet,  of  course." 

"Yes;  and  what  more?" 

"He  thinks  she  should  be  married,  and  proposes 
to  arrange  the  matter. ' ' 

The  idea  of  Uncle  Josiah  as  a  matchmaker  filled 
the  German  with  comic  delight.  He  broke  into 
Gargantuan  laughter.  "I  should  like  to  hear  his 
plan  of  campaign." 

"Oh,  dear  Aunt  Gainor,"  cried  a  voice  from  an 
upper  window,  "what  is  the  joke?  Tell  me,  or  I 
shall  come  down  and  find  out. ' ' 

"Go  to  bed,  minx!"  shouted  Miss  Gainor.  "Mr. 
Schmidt  is  going  to .  be  married,  and  I  am  'to  be 
bridesmaid.  To  bed  with  you!" 

"Fie,  for  shame,  Aunt!  He  will  tell  me  to-mor 
row."  The  white  figure  disappeared  from  the  win 
dow. 

"Oh,  Josiah  is  set  on  it — really  set  on  it,  and  you 
know  his  possibilities  of  combining  folly  with  ob 
stinacy.  ' ' 

"Yes,  I  know.    And  who  is  the  happy  man?" 

"The  Vicomte  de  Courval,  please." 


268  THE  BED  CITY 

Schmidt  whistled  low.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Mis 
tress  Gainor.  Cannot  you  stop  him?  The  fool! 
What  does  he  propose  to  do?" 

"I  do  not  know.  He  has  an  odd  admiration  for 
De  Courval,  and  that  is  strange,  for  he  never  con 
tradicts  him. ' ' 

''The  admiration  of  a  coward  for  a  brave  man— 
I  have  known  that  more  than  once.  He  will  do 
Heaven  knows  what,  and  end  in  making  mischief 
enough." 

"I  have  scared  him  a  little.  He  talked,  the  idiot, 
about  his  will,  and  what  he  would  or  would  not  do. 
As  if  that  would  help,  or  as  if  the  dear  child  cares 
or  would  care.  I  said  I  had  money  to  spare  at  need. 
He  will  say  nothing  for  a  while.  I  do  not  mean  to 
be  interfered  with.  I  told  him  so. ' ' 

"Did  you,  indeed?" 

"I  did." 

"Mistress  Gainor,  you  had  better  keep  your  own 
hands  off  and  let  things  alone.  Josiah  would  be  like 
an  elephant  in  a  rose  garden. ' ' 

"And  I  like-" 

"A  good,  kindly  woman  about  to  make  a  sad  mis 
take.  You  do  not  know  the  mother's  deep-seated 
prejudices,  nor  yet  of  what  trouble  lies  like  a  shadow 
on  Rene's  life.  I  should  not  dare  to  interfere." 

' '  What  is  it  ? "  she  said,  at  once  curious  and  anxious. 

"Mistress  Gainor,  you  are  to  be  trusted,  else  you 
would  go  your  way.  Is  not  that  so  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  I  am  reasonable  and  Margaret  is  dear 
to  me.  I  like  the  vicomte  and,  as  for  his  mother,  she 
thinks  me  a  kind,  rough  old  woman;  and  for  her 


THE  EED  CITY  269 

nonsense  about  rank  and  blood,  stuff!  The  girl's 
blood  is  as  good  as  hers. ' ' 

' '  No  doubt ;  but  let  it  alone.  And  now  I  think  you 
ought  to  hear  his  story  and  I  mean  to  tell  it. ' '  And 
sitting  in  the  darkness,  he  told  her  of  Avignon 
and  Carteaux  and  the  real  meaning  of  the  duel  and 
how  the  matter  would  go  on  again  some  day,  but 
how  soon  fate  alone  could  determine.  She  listened, 
appalled  at  the  tragic  story  which  had  come  thus 
fatefully  from  a  far-away  land  into  the  life  of  a 
quiet  Quaker  family. 

"It  is  terrible  and  sad,"  she  said.  "And  he  has 
spoken  to  no  one  but  you  of  this  tragedy?  It  must 
be  known  to  many. ' ' 

"The  death,  yes.  Carteaux 's  share  in  it,  no.  He 
was  an  unknown  young  avocat  at  the  time. ' ' 

1 '  How  reticent  young  De  Courval  must  be !  It  is 
singular  at  his  age. ' ' 

' '  He  had  no  reason  to  talk  of  it ;  he  is  a  man  older 
than  his  years.  He  had  in  fact  his  own  good  reason 
for  desiring  not  to  drive  this  villain  out  of  his  reach. 
He  is  a  very  resolute  person.  If  he  loves  this  dear 
child,  he  will  marry  her,  if  a  dozen  mothers  stand  in 
the  way." 

"There  will  be  two.  I  see  now  why  Mary  Swan- 
wick  is  always  sending  Margaret  to  me  or  to  Darthea 
Wynne.  I  think  the  maid  cares  for  him. ' ' 

"Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Gainor,  if  I  could  keep  them 
apart  for  a  year,  I  should  like  it.  God  knows  where 
the  end  will  be.  Suppose  this  fellow  were  to  kill 
him!  That  they  will  meet  again  is  sadly  sure,  if 
I  know  De  Courval. ' ' 


270  THE  EED  CITY 

"You  are  right,"  she  returned.  "But  if,  Mr. 
Schmidt,  this  shadow  did  not  lie  across  his  path, 
would  it  please  you  ?  Would  you  who  have  done  so 
much  for  him— would  you  wish  it?" 

"With  all  my  heart.  But  let  it  rest  here,  and  let 
time  and  fate  have  their  way. ' ' 

"I  will,"  she  said,  rising.  "It  is  cool.  I  must 
go  in.  It  is  a  sad  tangle,  and  those  two  mothers !  I 
am  sometimes  glad  that  I  never  married  and  have 
no  child.  Good  night.  I  fear  that  I  shall  dream 
of  it." 

"I  shall  have  another  pipe  before  I  follow  you. 
We  are  three  old  cupids, ' '  he  added,  laughing.  ' '  We 
had  better  go  out  of  business. ' ' 

"There  is  a  good  bit  of  cupidity  about  one  of  us, 
sir." 

"A  not  uncommon  quality,"  laughed  Schmidt. 

Pleased  with  her  jest,  she  went  away,  saying, 
* '  Tom  will  take  care  of  you. ' ' 

To  the  well-concealed  satisfaction  of  the  vicomtesse, 
it  was  settled  that  Margaret's  health  required  her  to 
remain  all  summer  at  the  Hill;  but  when  June  was 
over,  De  Courval  was  able  to  ride,  and  why  not  to 
Chestnut  Hill?  And  although  Gainor  never  left 
them  alone,  it  was  impossible  to  refuse  permission 
for  him  to  ride  with  them. 

They  explored  the  country  far  and  wide  with  Aunt 
Gainor  on  her  great  stallion,  a  rash  rider  despite  her 
years.  Together  they  saw  White  Marsh  and  the  his 
toric  lines  of  Valley  Forge,  and  heard  of  Hugh 
Wynne's  ride,  and,  by  good  luck,  met  General 
Wayne  one  day  and  were  told  the  story  of  that  dismal 


THE  BED  CITY  271 

winter  when  snow  was  both  foe  and  friend.  Aunt 
Gainor  rode  in  a  riding-mask,  and  the  Quaker  bon 
net  was  worn  no  longer,  wherefore,  the  code  of 
lovers'  signals  being  ingeniously  good,  there  needed 
no  cupids  old  or  young.  The  spring  of  love  had 
come  and  the  summer  would  follow  in  nature '5 
course.  Yet  always  Rene  felt  that  until  his  dark 
debt  was  paid  he  could  not  speak. 

Therefore,  sometimes  he  refrained  from  turning 
his  horse  toward  the  Hill  and  went  to  see  his 
mother,  now  again,  to  her  pleasure,  with  Darthea, 
or  else  he  rode  with  Schmidt  through  that  bit  of 
Holland  on  the  Neck  and  saw  sails  over  the  dikes 
and  the  flour  windmills  turning  in  the  breeze. 
Schmidt,  too,  kept  him  busy,  and  he  visited  Balti 
more  and  New  York,  and  fished  or  shot. 

' '  You  are  well  enough  now.  Let  us  fence  again, ' ' 
said  Schmidt,  and  once  more  he  was  made  welcome 
by  the  emigres  late  in  the  evening  when  no  others 
came. 

He  would  rarely  touch  the  foils,  but  "Mon  Qieu, 
Schmidt,"  said  de  Malerive,  "he  has  with  the  pistol 
skill." 

Du  Vallon  admitted  it.  But:  "Mon  ami,  it  is  no 
weapon  for  gentlemen.  The  Jacobins  like  it.  There 
is  no  tierce  or  quarte  against  a  bullet. ' ' 

"Do  they  practise  with  the  pistol  here?" 

"No.  Carteaux,  thy  lucky  friend,  ah,  very  good, 
—of  the  best  with  the  foil,— but  no  shot."  Rene 
smiled,  and  Schmidt  understood. 

"Can  you  hit  that,  Rene?"  he  said,  taking  from 
his  pocket  the  ace  of  clubs,  for  playing-cards  were 


272  THE  BED  CITY 

often  used  as  visiting-cards,  the  backs  being  white, 
and  other  material  not  always  to  be  had. 

Rene  hit  the  edge  of  the  ace  with  a  ball,  and  then 
the  center.  The  gay  crowd  applauded,  and  Du 
Vallon  pleased  to  make  a  little  jest  in  English, 
wished  it  were  a  Jacobin  club,  and,  again  merry, 
they  liked  the  jest. 


XIX 

THE  only  man  known  to  me  who  remembered 
Schmidt  is  said  to  have  heard  Alexander  Ham 
ilton  remark  that  all  the  German  lacked  of  being 
great  was  interest  in  the  noble  game  of  politics.  It 
was  true  of  Schmidt.  The  war  of  parties  merely 
amused  him,  with  their  honest  dread  of  a  monarchy, 
their  terror  of  a  bonded  debt,  their  disgust  at  the 
abominable  imposition  of  a  tax  on  freemen,  and, 
above  all,  an  excise  tax  on  whisky.  Jefferson,  with 
keen  intellect,  was  trying  to  keep  the  name  Repub 
lican  for  the  would-be  Democrats,  and  while  in  office 
had  rebuked  Genet  and  kept  Fauchet  in  order,  so 
that,  save  for  the  smaller  side  of  him  and  the  blind 
ing  mind  fog  of  personal  and  party  prejudice,  he 
would  have  been  still  more  valuable  in  the  distracted 
cabinet  he  had  left. 

Schmidt  looked  on  it  all  with  tranquillity,  and 
while  he  heard  of  the  horrors  of  the  Terror  with 
regret  for  individual  suffering,  regarded  that  strange 
drama  much  as  an  historian  looks  back  on  the  records 
of  the  past. 

Seeing  this  and  the  man's  interest  in  the  people 
near  to  him,  in  flowers,  nature,  and  books,  his  atti 
tude  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  vast  world  changes 
seemed  singular  to  the  more  intense  character  of  De 
Courval.  It  had  for  him,  however,  its  value  in  the 

273 


274  THE  BED  CITY 

midst  of  the  turmoil  of  a  new  nation  and  the  tempta 
tions  an  immense  prosperity  offered  to  a  people  who 
were  not  as  yet  acclimated  to  the  air  of  freedom. 

In  fact  Schmidt's  indifference,  or  rather  the  neu 
trality  of  a  mind  not  readily  biased,  seemed  to  set 
him  apart,  and  to  enable  him  to  see  with  sagacity 
the  meaning  and  the  probable  results  of  what  ap 
peared  to  some  in  America  like  the  beginning  of  a 
fatal  evolution  of  ruin. 

Their  companionship  had  now  the  qualities  of  one 
of  those  rare  and  useful  friendships  between  middle 
age  and  youth,  seen  now  and  then  between  a  father 
and  son,  with  similar  tastes.  They  were  much  to 
gether,  and  by  the  use  of  business  errands  and  social 
engagements  the  elder  man  did  his  share  in  so  occu 
pying  De  Courval  as  to  limit  his  chances  of  seeing 
Margaret  Swan  wick;  nor  was  she  entirely  or  surely 
displeased.  Her  instincts  as  a  woman  made  her 
aware  of  what  might  happen  at  any  time.  She 
knew,  too,  what  would  then  be  the  attitude  of  the 
repellent  Huguenot  lady.  Her  pride  of  caste  was 
recognized  by  Margaret  with  the  distinctness  of  an 
equal  but  different  pride,  and  with  some  resentment 
at  an  aloofness  which,  while  it  permitted  the  expres 
sion  of  gratitude,  seemed  to  draw  between  Mrs. 
Swanwick  and  herself  a  line  of  impassable  formality 
of  intercourse. 

One  of  the  lesser  accidents  of  social  life  was  about 
to  bring  for  De  Courval  unlooked-for  changes  and 
materially  to  affect  his  fortunes.  He  had  seemed  to 
Schmidt  of  late  less  troubled,  a  fact  due  to  a  decision 
which  left  him  more  at  ease. 


THE  RED  CITY  275 

The  summer  of  1794  was  over,  and  the  city  gay 
and  amusing.  He  had  seen  Carteaux  more  than 
once,  and  seeing  him,  he  had  been  but  little  dis 
turbed.  On  an  evening  in  September,  Schmidt  and 
he  went  as  usual  to  the  fencing-school.  There  were 
some  new  faces.  Du  Vallon  said,  ' '  Here,  Schmidt,  is 
an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  Vicomte,  let  me  present 
Monsieur  Brillat-Savarin. ' ' 

The  new-comer  greeted  De  Courval  and  his  face 
expressed  surprise  as  he  bowed  to  the  German.  "I 
beg  pardon,"  he  said— "Monsieur  Schmidt?" 

' '  Yes,  at  your  service. ' ' 

He  seemed  puzzled.  ' '  It  seems  to  me  that  we  have 
met  before— in  Berne,  I  think." 

"Berne.  Berne,"  said  Schmidt,  coldly.  "I  was 
never  in  Berne. ' ' 

"Ah,  I  beg  pardon.    I  must  be  mistaken." 

"Are  you  here  for  a  long  stay?" 

1 1  Only  for  a  few  days.  I  am  wandering  in  a  land 
of  lost  opportunities. ' ' 

"Of  what?"  asked  Schmidt. 

' '  Oh,  of  the  cook.  Think  of  it,  these  angelic  reed- 
birds,  the  divine  terrapin,  the  duck  they  call  canvas, 
the  archangelic  wild  turkey,  unappreciated,  crudely 
cooked;  the  Madeira — ah,  mon  dieu!  I  would  talk 
of  them,  and,  behold,  the  men  talk  politics !  I  have 
eaten  of  that  dish  at  home,  and  it  gave  me  the  colic 
of  disgust. ' ' 

' '  But  the  women  ? ' '  said  a  young  emigre. 

"Ah,  angels,  angels.  But  can  they  make  an  ome 
let  ?  The  divine  Miss  Morris  would  sing  to  me  when 

I  would  speak  seriously  of  my  search  for  truffles. 

is 


276  THE  BED  CITY 

Oh,  she  would  sing  the  'Yankee  Dudda'1  and  I  must 
hear  the  'Lament  of  Major  Andre.'  Who  was  he?" 

De  Courval  explained. 

"It  is  the  truffle  I  lament.  Ah,  to  marry  the 
truffle  to  the  wild  turkey." 

The  little  group  laughed.  ' '  Old  gourmand, ' '  cried 
Du  Vallon,  ' '  you  are  still  the  same. ' ' 

"Gourmet,"  corrected  Savarin.  "Congratulate 
me.  I  have  found  here  a  cook— Marino,  a  master, 
French  of  course,  from  San  Domingo.  You  will 
dine  with  me  at  four  to-morrow ;  and  you,  Monsieur 
Schmidt,  certainly  you  resemble— : 

"Yes,"  broke  in  the  German.  "A  likeness  often 
remarked,  not  very  flattering. ' ' 

"Ah,  pardon  me.  But  my  dinner— Du  Vallon, 
you  will  come,  and  the  vicomte,  and  you  and  you, 
and  there  will  be  Messieurs  Bingham  and  Rawle  and 
Mr.  Meredith,  and  one  Jacobin, — Monsieur  Girard, 
— as  I  hear  a  lover  of  good  diet — ah,  he  gave  me  the 
crab  which  is  soft,  the  citizen  crab.  Monsieur  Girard 
—I  bless  him.  I  have  seen  women,  statesmen,  kings, 
but  the  crab,  ah !  the  crab  '  which  is  soft. '  ' 

All  of  them  accepted,  the  emigres  gladly,  being, 
alas !  none  too  well  fed. 

' '  And  now,  adieu.  I  must  go  and  meditate  on  my 
dinner. ' ' 

The  next  day  at  four  they  met  at  Marino's,  the 
new  restaurant  in  Front  Street  then  becoming  fash 
ionable. 

"I  have  taken  the  liberty,"  said  Bingham,  "to 
send  half  a  dozen  of  Madeira,  1745,  and  two  de- 
so  writes  it  in  his  "Physiologic  du  gotit." 


THE  EED  CITY  277 

canters  of  grape  juice,  what  we  call  the  white.  The 
rest — well,  of  our  best,  all  of  it." 

They  sat  down  expectant.  "The  turkey  I  have 
not/'  said  Savarin;  "but  the  soup— ah,  you  will  see 
—soup  a  la  reine.  Will  Citizen  Girard  decline?" 

The  dinner  went  on  with  talk  and  laughter. 
Savarin  talking  broken  English,  or  more  volubly 
French. 

"You  are  to  have  the  crabs  which  are  soft,  Mon 
sieur  Girard,  en  papillotte,  more  becoming  crabs 
than  women,  and  at  the  close  reed-birds.  Had  there 
been  these  in  France,  and  the  crab  which  is  soft, 
and  the  terrapin,  there  would  have  been  no  Revolu 
tion.  And  the  Madeira— perfect,  perfect,  a  revela 
tion.  Your  health,  Mr.  Bingham. ' ' 

Bingham  bowed  over  his  glass,  and  regretted  that 
canvasback  ducks  and  terrapin  were  not  yet  in  sea 
son.  The  emigres  used  well  this  rare  chance,  and 
with  talk  of  the  wine  and  jest  and  story  (anything 
but  politics),  the  dinner  went  on  gaily.  Meanwhile 
Girard,  beside  De  Courval,  spoke  of  their  sad  expe 
riences  in  the  fever,  and  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
murder-scourged  West  Indian  Islands,  and  of  the 
ruin  of  our  commerce.  Marino  in  his  white  cap  and 
long  apron  stood  behind  the  host,  quietly  appre 
ciative  of  the  praise  given  to  his  dinner. 

Presently  Savarin  turned  to  him.  "Who,"  he 
asked,  ' '  dressed  this  salad.  It  is  a  marvel,  and  quite 
new  to  me." 

"I  asked  Monsieur  de  Beauvois  to  do  me  the 
honor. ' ' 

1  i  Indeed !     Many  thanks,  De  Beauvois, ' '  said  the 


278  THE  BED  CITY 

host  to  a  gentleman  at  the  farther  end  of  the  table. 
"Your  salad  is  past  praise.  Your  health.  You 
must  teach  me  this  dressing. ' ' 

11 A  secret,"  laughed  the  guest,  as  he  bowed  over 
his  glass,  ' '  and  valuable. ' ' 

* '  That  is  droll, ' '  said  De  Courval  to  Bingham. 

"No;  he  comes  to  my  house  and  to  Willing 's  to 
dress  salad  for  our  dinners.  Ten  francs  he  gets,  and 
lives  on  it,  and  saves  money." 

"Indeed!    I  am  sorry  for  him,"  said  Rene. 

Then  Mr.  Bingham,  being  next  to  Girard,  said  to 
him :  "  At  the  State  Department  yesterday,  Mr.  Sec 
retary  Randolph  asked  me,  knowing  I  was  to  see  you 
to-day,  if  you  knew  of  any  French  gentleman  who 
could  act  as  translating  clerk.  Of  course  he  must 
know  English." 

"Why  not  my  neighbor  De  Courval?"  said  the 
merchant.  "But  he  is  hardly  of  Mr.  Randolph's 
politics. ' ' 

"And  what  are  they?"  laughed  Mr.  Bingham. 
' '  Federal,  I  suppose ;  but  as  for  De  Courval,  he  is  of 
no  party.  Besides,  ever  since  Freneau  left  on  ac 
count  of  the  fever,  the  Secretaries  are  shy  of  any 
more  clerks  who  will  keep  them  in  hot  water  with 
the  President.  For  a  poet  he  was  a  master  of  ran 
corous  abuse. ' ' 

"And  who,"  said  Girard,  "have  excelled  the  poets 
in  malignancy  f  Having  your  permission,  I  will  ask  our 
young  friend."  And  turning  to  Rene,  he  related 
what  had  passed  between  him  and  Mr.  Bingham. 

Somewhat  surprised,  Rene  said :  "  I  might  like  it, 
but  I  must  consult  Mr.  Schmidt.  I  am  far  from 


THE  RED  CITY  279 

having  political  opinions,  or,  if  any,  they  are 
with  the  Federals.  But  that  would  be  for  the  Secre 
tary  to  decide  upon.  An  exile,  Mr.  Girard,  should 
have  no  political  opinions  unless  he  means  to  become 
a  citizen,  as  I  do  not/' 

"That  seems  reasonable,"  said  Bingham,  the  sen 
ator  for  Pennsylvania,  overhearing  him.  "Your 
health,  De  Courval,  I  commend  to  you  the  white 
grape  juice.  And  if  the  place  please  you,  let  it  be  a 
receipt  in  full  for  my  early  contribution  of  mud.'' 
And  laughing,  he  told  Girard  the  story. 

"Indeed,  sir,  it  was  a  very  personal  introduction," 
returned  Rene. 

"I  should  like  well  to  have  that  young  man  my 
self,  ' '  said  Girard  in  an  aside  to  Bingham.  ' '  This  is 
a  poor  bit  of  advancement  you  offer — all  honor  and 
little  cash.  I  like  the  honor  that  attends  to  a  draft. ' ' 

The  senator  laughed.  "Oh,  Schmidt  has,  I  be 
lieve,  adopted  De  Courval  or  something  like  it.  He 
will  take  the  post  for  its  interest.  Do  you  know," 
he  added,  ' '  who  this  man  Schmidt  may  be  ? " 

"I— no;  but  all  Europe  is  sending  us  mysterious 
people.  By  and  by  the  kings  and  queens  will  come. 
But  Schmidt  is  a  man  to  trust,  that  I  do  know. ' ' 

"A  good  character,"  cried  Schmidt,  coming  be 
hind  them.  "My  thanks." 

' '  By  George !  It  was  lucky  we  did  not  abuse  you, ' ' 
said  Bingham. 

' '  Oh,  Madeira  is  a  gentle  critic,  and  a  good  dinner 
does  fatten  amiability.  Come,  Rene,  we  shall  get  on 
even  terms  of  praise  with  them  as  we  walk  home." 

The  party  broke  up,  joyous  at  having  dined  well. 


280  THE  BED  CITY 

As  they  went  homeward,  Schmidt  said:  "Our 
host,  Rene,  is  not  a  mere  gourmet.  He  is  a  philo 
sophic  student  of  diet,  living  in  general  simply,  and, 
I  may  add,  a  gentleman  of  courage  and  good  sense, 
as  he  showed  in  France." 

"It  seems  difficult,  sir,  to  judge  men.  He  seemed 
to  me  foolish. ' ' 

"Yes;  and  one  is  apt  to  think  not  well  of  a  man 
who  talks  much  of  what  he  eats.  He  recognized  me, 
but  at  once  accepted  my  obvious  desire  not  to  be 
known.  He  will  be  sure  to  keep  my  secret. ' ' 

When  having  reached  home,  and  it  was  not  yet 
twilight — they  sat  down  with  their  pipes,  Rene  laid 
before  his  friend  this  matter  of  the  secretaryship. 

Schmidt  said:  "My  work  is  small  just  now,  and 
the  hours  of  the  State  Department  would  release  you 
at  three.  You  would  be  at  the  center  of  affairs,  and 
learn  much,  and  would  find  the  Secretary  pleasant. 
But,  remember,  the  work  may  bring  you  into  rela 
tions  with  Carteaux." 

' '  I  have  thought  of  that ;  but  my  mother  will  like 
this  work  for  me.  The  business  she  disliked." 

"Then  take  it,  if  it  is  offered,  as  I  am  sure  it  will 
be."  "He  is  very  quiet  about  Carteaux,"  thought 
Schmidt.  ' '  Something  will  happen  soon.  I  did  say 
from  the  first  that  I  would  not  desire  to  be  inside  of 
that  Jacobin's  skin." 

The  day  after,  a  brief  note  called  De  Courval  to 
the  Department  of  State. 

The  modest  building  which  then  housed  the  Sec 
retary  and  his  affairs  was  a  small  dwelling-house  on 
High  Street,  No.  379,  as  the  old  numbers  ran. 


THE  KED  CITY  281 

No  mark  distinguished  it  as  the  vital  center  of  a 
nation's  foreign  business.  Rene  had  to  ask  a 
passer-by  for  the  direction. 

For  a  brief  moment  De  Courval  stood  on  the  outer 
step  before  the  open  door.  A  black  servant  was 
asleep  on  a  chair  within  the  sanded  entry. 

The  simplicity  and  poverty  of  a  young  nation, 
just  of  late  having  set  up  housekeeping.,  were  plainly 
to  be  read  in  the  office  of  the  Department  of  State. 
Two  or  three  persons  went  in  or  came  out. 

Beside  the  step  an  old  black  woman  was  selling 
peanuts.  Rene's  thoughts  wandered  for  a  moment 
from  his  Norman  home  to  a  clerk's  place  in  the  ser 
vice  of  a  new  country. 

"How  very  strange !"— he  had  said  so  to  Schmidt, 
and  now  recalled  his  laughing  reply :  * '  We  think  we 
play  the  game  of  life,  Rene,  but  the  banker  Fate  al 
ways  wins.  His  dice  are  loaded,  his  cards  are 
marked."  The  German  liked  to  puzzle  him.  "And 
yet,"  reflected  De  Courval,  "I  can  go  in  or  go 
home."  He  said  to  himself:  "Surely  I  am  free,— 
and,  after  all,  how  little  it  means  for  me !  I  am  to 
translate  letters."  He  roused  the  snoring  negro, 
and  asked,  "Where  can  I  find  Mr.  Randolph?"  As 
the  drowsy  slave  was  assembling  his  wits,  a  notably 
pleasant  voice  behind  Rene  said:  "I  am  Mr.  Ran 
dolph,  at  your  service.  Have  I  .not  the  pleasure  to 
see  the  Vicomte  de  Courval  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I  am  he." 

"Come  into  my  office."  Rene  followed  him,  and 
they  sat  down  to  talk  in  the  simply  furnished  front 
room. 


282  THE  RED  CITY 

The  Secretary,  then  in  young  middle  age,  was  a 
largely  built  man  and  portly,  dark-eyed,  with  re 
fined  features  and  quick  to  express  a  certain  con 
ciliatory  courtesy  in  his  relations  with  others.  He 
used  gesture  more  freely  than  is  common  with  men 
of  our  race,  and  both  in  voice  and  manner  there  was 
something  which  Rene  felt  to  be  engaging  and  at 
tractive. 

He  liked  him,  and  still  more  after  a  long  talk  in 
which  the  duties  of  the  place  were  explained  and  his 
own  indisposition  to  speak  of  his  past  life  recognized 
with  tactful  courtesy. 

Randolph  said  at  last,  "The  office  is  yours  if  it 
please  you  to  accept. ' ' 

' '  I  do  so,  sir,  most  gladly. ' ' 

' '  Very  good.  I  ought  to  say  that  Mr.  Freneau  had 
but  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year.  It  is  all 
we  can  afford. ' ' 

As  Rene  was  still  the  helper  of  Schmidt,  and  well 
paid,  he  said  it  was  enough.  He  added :  "  I  am  not 
of  any  party,  sir.  I  have  already  said  so,  but  I  wish 
in  regard  to  this  to  be  definite." 

"That  is  of  no  moment,  or,  in  fact,  a  good  thing. 
Your  duties  here  pledge  you  to  no  party.  I  want  a 
man  of  honor,  and  one  with  whom  state  secrets  will 
be  safe.  Well,  then,  you  take  it?  We  seem  to  be 
agreed. ' ' 

"Yes;  and  I  am  much  honored  by  the  offer." 

"Then  come  here  at  ten  to-morrow.  There  is 
much  to  do  for  a  time." 

Madame  was  pleased.  This  at  least  was  not  com 
merce.  But  now  there  was  little  leisure,  and  no  time 


THE  BED  CITY  283 

for  visits  to  the  Hill,  at  which  the  two  conspiring 
cupids,  out  of  business  and  anxious,  smiled,  doubtful 
as  to  what  cards  Fate  would  hold  in  this  game :  and 
thus  time  ran  on. 

The  work  was  easy  and  interesting.  The  Secre 
tary,  courteous  and  well-pleased,  in  that  simpler 
day,  came  in  person  to  the  little  room  assigned  to 
De  Courval  and  brought  documents  and  letters 
which  opened  a  wide  world  to  a  curious  young  man, 
who  would  stay  at  need  until  midnight,  and  who 
soon  welcomed  duties  far  beyond  mere  French  let 
ter-writing. 

By  and  by  there  were  visits  with  papers  to  Mr. 
Wolcott  at  the  Treasury  Department,  No.  119  Chest 
nut  Street,  and  at  last  to  Fauchet  at  Oeller's  Hotel. 

He  was  received  with  formal  civility  by  Le  Blanc, 
a  secretary,  and  presently  Carteaux,  entering, 
bowed.  De  Courval  did  not  return  the  salute,  and, 
finishing  his  business  without  haste,  went  out. 

He  felt  the  strain  of  self-control  the  situation  had 
demanded,  but,  as  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  fore 
head,  knew  with  satisfaction  that  the  stern  trials  of 
the  years  had  won  for  him  the  priceless  power  to  be 
or  to  seem  to  be  what  he  was  not. 

"The  ci-devant  has  had  his  little  lesson,"  said  Le 
Blanc.  "It  will  be  long  before  he  insults  another 
good  Jacobin." 

Carteaux,  more  intelligent,  read  otherwise  the  set 
jaw  and  grave  face  of  the  Huguenot  gentleman.  He 
would  be  on  his  guard. 

The  news  of  the  death  of  Robespierre,  in  July, 
1794,  had  unsettled  Fauchet,  and  his  subordinate, 


284  THE  BED  CITY 

sharing  his  uneasiness,  meant  to  return  to  France  if 
the  minister  were  recalled  and  the  Terror  at  an  end, 
or  to  find  a  home  in  New  York,  and  perhaps,  like 
Genet,  a  wife.  For  the  time  he  dismissed  De  Cour- 
val  from  his  mind,  although  not  altogether  self-as 
sured  concerning  the  future. 


XX 


now  a^out  this  matter  of  dress,"  said  Miss 
Gainor. 

"Thou  art  very  good,  Godmother,  to  come  and 
consult  me,"  said  Mrs.  Swan  wick.  "I  have  given  it 
some  thought,  and  I  do  not  see  the  wisdom  of 
going  half-way.  The  good  preacher  White  has  been 
talking  to  Margaret,  and  I  see  no  reason  why,  if  I 
changed,  she  also  should  not  be  free  to  do  as  seems 
best  to  her." 

"You  are  very  moderate,  Mary,  as  you  always 
are." 

' '  I  try  to  be ;  but  I  wish  that  it  were  altogether  a 
matter  of  conscience  with  Margaret.  It  is  not. 
Friends  were  concerned  in  regard  to  that  sad  duel 
and  considered  me  unwise  to  keep  in  my  house  one 
guilty  of  the  wickedness  of  desiring  to  shed  an 
other's  blood,  Margaret  happened  to  be  with  me 
when  Friend  Howell  opened  the  subject,  and  thou 
knowest  how  gentle  he  is." 

"Yes.    I  know.    What  happened,  Mary?" 

''He  said  that  Friends  were  advised  that  to  keep 
in  my  house  a  young  man  guilty  of  bloodshed  was, 
as  it  did  appear  to  them,  undesirable.  Then,  to  my 
surprise,  Margaret  said:  'But  he  was  not  guilty  of 
bloodshed.'  Friend  Howell  was  rather  amazed,  as 


286  THE  BED  CITY 

thou  canst  imagine ;  but  before  he  could  say  a  word 
more,  Miss  Impudence  jumped  up,  very  red  in  the 
face,  and  said:  'Why  not  talk  to  him  instead  of 
troubling  mother?  I  wish  he  had  shed  more  blood 
than  his  own. '  ' 

"Ah,  the  dear  minx!  I  should  like  to  have  been 
there, ? '  said  Gainor. 

* '  He  was  very  near  to  anger— as  near  as  is  possible 
for  Arthur  Howell;  but  out  goes  my  young  woman 
in  a  fine  rage  about  what  was  none  of  her  business. ' ' 

1 '  And  what  did  you  say  ? ' ' 

"What  could  I  say  except  to  excuse  her,  because 
the  young  man  was  our  friend,  and  at  last  that  I  was 
very  sorry  not  to  do  as  they  would  have  had  me  to 
do,  but  would  hear  no  more.  He  was  ill-pleased,  I 
do  assure  thee." 

"Were  you  very  sorry,  Mary  Swan  wick?" 

"I  was  not,  although  I  could  not  approve  the 
young  man  nor  my  child's  impertinence." 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  should  have  said  worse  things. 
I  may  have  my  way  in  the  matter  of  dress,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  widow,  resigned.  "An  Episco 
palian  in  Friends'  dress  seems  to  me  to  lack  pro 
priety  ;  but  as  to  thy  desire  to  buy  her  fine  garments, 
there  are  trunks  in  my  garret  full  of  the  world's 
things  I  gave  up  long  ago. ' ' 

"Were  you  sorry?" 

' '  A  little,  Aunt  Gainor.    Wilt  thou  see  them  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  Margaret,"  she  called,  "come  in." 

She  entered  with  De  Courval,  at  home  by  good 
luck.  "Ami  may  1  come,  too?"  he  asked. 


THE  RED  CITY  287 

' '  Why  not  ? ' '  said  Mistress  Gainor,  and  they  went 
up-stairs,  where  Nanny,  delighted,  opened  the 
trunks  and  took  out  one  by  one  the  garments  of  a 
gayer  world,  long  laid  away  unused.  The  maid  in 
her  red  bandana  head-gear  was  delighted,  having, 
like  her  race,  great  pleasure  in  bright  colors. 

The  widow,  standing  apart,  looked  on,  with  memo 
ries  which  kept  her  silent,  as  the  faint  smell  of  laven 
der,  which  seems  to  me  always  to  have  an  ancient 
fragrance,  hung  about  the  garments  of  her  youth. 

Margaret  watched  her  mother  with  quick  sense  of 
this  being  for  her  something  like  the  turning  back  to 
a  record  of  a  girlhood  like  her  own.  De  Courval  had 
eyes  for  the  Pearl  alone.  Gainor  Wynne,  undis 
turbed  by  sentimental  reflections,  enjoyed  the  little 
business. 

' '  Goodness,  my  dear,  •  what  brocade ! ' '  cried  Miss 
Wynne.  ' '  How  fine  you  were,  Mary !  And  a  white 
satin,  with  lace  and  silver  gimp.'7 

"It  was  my  mother's  wedding-gown,"  said  che 
widow. 

"And  for  day  wear  this  lutestring  will  fit  you  to 
a  hair,  Margaret ;  but  the  sleeves  must  be  loose. 
And  lace— what  is  it?"  She  held  up  a  filmy  fabric. 

'  *  I  think  I  could  tell. ' '  And  there,  a  little  curious, 
having  heard  her  son 's  voice,  was  the  vicomtesse,  inter 
ested,  and  for  her  mildly  excited,  to  Rene's  surprise. 

Miss  Gainor  greeted  her  in  French  I  dare  not  ven 
ture  upon,  and  this  common  interest  in  clothes 
seemed  somehow  to  have  the  effect  of  suddenly  bring 
ing  all  these  women  into  an  intimacy  of  the  minute, 
while  the  one  man  stood  by,  with  the  unending  won- 


288  THE  KED  CITY 

der  of  the  ignorant  male,  now,  as  it  were,  behind  the 
scenes.  He  fell  back  and  the  women  left  him  un 
noticed. 

' '  What  is  it,  Madame ! ' '  asked  Margaret. 

' '  Oh,  French  point,  child,  and  very  beautiful.  * ' 

"And  this  other  must  be—" 

"It  is  new  to  me, ' '  cried  Miss  Wynne. 

"Permit  me,"  said  the  vicomtesse.  "Venetian 
point,  I  think— quite  priceless,  Margaret,  a  won 
der.  ' '  She  threw  the  fairy  tissue  about  Pearl 's  head, 
smiling  as  she  considered  the  effect. 

"Is  this  my  mother?"  thought  her  son,  with  in 
crease  of  wonder.  He  had  seen  her  only  with  re 
stricted  means,  and  knew  little  of  the  more  luxurious 
days  and  tastes  of  her  youth. 

"Does  you  remember  this,  missus?"  said  Nanny. 

"A  doll,"  cried  Gainor,  "and  in  Quaker  dress! 
It  will  do  for  your  children,  Margaret. ' ' 

' '  No,  it  is  not  a  child 's  doll, ' '  said  Mrs.  Swanwick. 
' '  Friends  in  London  sent  it  to  Marie  Wynne,  Hugh 's 
mother,  for  a  pattern  of  the  last  Quaker  fashions  in 
London— a  way  they  had.  I  had  quite  forgotten  it. ' ' 

"And  very  pretty,  quite  charming,"  said  the 
vicomtesse. 

"And  stays,  my  dear,  and  a  modesty  fence,"  cried 
Miss  Wynne,  holding  them  up.  "You  will  have  to 
fatten,  Pearl." 

Upon  this  the  young  man  considered  it  as  well  to 
retire.  He  went  down-stairs  unmissed,  thinking  of 
the  agreeable  intimacy  of  stays  with  the  fair  figure 
he  left  bending  over  the  trunk,  a  mass  of  black  lace 
in  her  hand. 


"She  threw  the  fairy  tissue  about  Pearl's  head,  smiling  as 
she  considered  the  effect  " 


THE  BED  CITY  291 

"Spanish,  my  dear,"  said  Madame,  with  anima 
tion;  "quite  a  wonder.  Oh,  rare,  very  rare.  Not 
quite  fit  for  a  young  woman — a  head  veil." 

"Are  they  all  mine,  Mother?"  cried  Margaret. 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"Then,  Madame,"  she  said,  with  rising  color  and 
engaging  frankness.,  "may  I  not  have  the  honor  to 
offer  thee  the  lace?" 

"Why  not?"  said  Gainor,  pleased  at  the  pretty 
way  of  the  girl. 

' '  Oh,  quite  impossible,  child, ' '  said  the  vicomtesse. 
"It  is  quite  too  valuable." 

* '  Please  ! ' '  said  PearL  ' '  It  would  so  become 
thee." 

' ;  I  really  cannot. ' ' 

'  *  Thy  roquelaure, ' '  laughed  Mrs.  Swanwick,  ' '  was 
— well — I  did  remonstrate.  Why  may  not  we  too 
have  the  pleasure  of  extravagance  ? ' ' 

' '  I  am  conquered, ' '  said  Madame,  a  trace  of  color 
in  her  wan  cheeks  as  Mrs.  Swanwick  set  the  lace  veil 
on  her  head,  saying:  "We  are  obliged,  Madame. 
And  where  is  the  vicomte  ?  He  should  see  thee. ' ' 

"Gone,"  said  Miss  Gainor;  "and  just  as  well, 
too,"  for  now  Nanny  was  holding  up  a  variety  of 
lavender-scented  delicacies  of  raiment,  fine  linens, 
and  openwork  silk  stockings. 

Rene,  still  laughing,  met  Schmidt  in  the  hall. 

"You  were  merry  up-stairs." 

"Indeed  we  were."  And  he  gaily  described  his 
mother's  unwonted  mood;  but  of  the  sacred  future 
of  the  stays  he  said  no  word. 

' '  And  so  our  gray  moth  has  become  a  butterfly.    I 


292  THE  EED  CITY 

think  Mother  Eve  would  not  have  abided  long  with 
out  a  milliner.  I  should  like  to  have  been  of  the 
party  up-stairs. ' ' 

"You  would  have  been  much  enlightened,"  said 
Miss  Wynne  on  the  stair.  "I  shall  send  for  the 
boxes,  Mary."  And  with  this  she  went  away  with 
Margaret,  as  the  doctor  had  declared  was  still  need 
ful. 

"Why  are  you. smiling,  Aunt?"  said  Margaret. 

"Oh,  nothing."  Then  to  herself  she  said:  "I 
think  that  if  Rene  de  Courval  had  heard  her  talk  to 
Arthur  Howell,  he  would  have  been  greatly  en- 
ligjitened.  Her  mother  must  have  understood;  or 
else  she  is  more  of  a  fool  than  I  take  her  to  be. ' ' 

"And  thou  wilt  not  tell  me?"  asked  the  Pearl. 

"Never,"  said  Gainor,  laughing— "never." 

Meanwhile  there  was  trouble  in  the  western  coun 
ties  of  Pennsylvania  over  the  excise  tax  on  whisky, 
and  more  work  than  French  translations  for  an  able 
and  interested  young  clerk,  whom  his  mother  spoke 
of  as  a  secretary  to  the  minister. 

"It  is  the  first  strain  upon  the  new  Constitution," 
said  Schmidt;  "but  there  is  a  man  with  bones  to  his 
back,  this  President. '  '•  And  by  November  the  militia 
had  put  down  the  riots,  and  the  first  grave  trial  of 
the  central  government  was  well  over;  so  that  the 
President  was  free  at  last  to  turn  to  the  question  of 
the  treaty  with  England,  already  signed  in  London. 

Then  once  more  the  clamor  of  party  strife  broke 
out.  Had  not  Jay  kissed  the  hand  of  the  queen? 
"He  had  prostrated  at  the  feet  of  royalty  the  sover 
eignty  of  the  people." 


THE  EED  CITY  293 

Fauchet  was  busy  fostering  opposition  long  be 
fore  the  treaty  came  back  for  decision  by  the  Senate. 
The  foreign  office  was  busy,  and  Randolph  ill 
pleased  with  the  supposed  terms  of  the  coming  docu 
ment. 

To  deal  with  the  causes  of  opposition  to  the  treaty 
in  and  out  of  the  cabinet  far  into  1795  concerns  this 
story  but  indirectly.  No  one  was  altogether  satisfied, 
and  least  of  all  Fauchet,  who  at  every  opportunity 
was  sending  despatches  home  by  any  French  war 
ship  seeking  refuge  in  our  ports. 

A  little  before  noon,  on  the  29th  of  November,  of 
this  year,  1794,  a  date  De  Courval  was  never  to  for 
get,  he  was  taking  the  time  for  his  watch  from  the 
clock  on  the  western  wall  of  the  State  House.  As  he 
stood,  he  saw  Dr.  Chovet  stop  his  chaise. 

"Bon jour,  citizen/'  cried  the  doctor.  "Your  too 
intimate  friend,  Monsieur  Carteaux,  is  off  for 
France.  He  will  trouble  you  no  more."  As  usual, 
the  doctor,  safe  in  his  chaise,  was  as  impertinent  as 
he  dared  to  be. 

Too  disturbed  to  notice  anything  but  this  startling 
information  in  regard  to  his  enemy,  De  Courval 
said :  * '  "Who  told  you  that  ?  It  cannot  be  true.  He 
was  at  the  State  Department  yesterday,  and  we  were 
to  meet  this  afternoon  over  the  affair  of  a  British 
ship  captured  by  a  French  privateer. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  met  him  on  Fifth  Street  on  horseback  just 
now— a  little  while  ago." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  'I  am  for  New  York,'  he  said.  I  asked:  'How 
can  I  send  letters  to  France?'  He  said:  'I  cannot 

19 


204  THE  BED  CITY 

wait  for  them.  I  am  in  a  hurry.  I  must  catch  that 
corvette,  the  Jean  Bart,  in  New  York. '  Then  I  cried 
after  him :  '  Are  you  for  France  ? '  And  he :  '  Do  you 
not  wish  you,  too,  were  going?  Adieu.  Wish  me 
bon  voyage.' } 

"Was  he  really  going?  We  would  have  heard  of 
it." 

"Le  dicible,  I  think  so;  but  he  nas  a  mocking 
tongue.  I  think  he  goes.  My  congratulations  that 
you  are  rid  of  him.  Adieu ! ' ' 

"Insolent!"  muttered  De  Courval.  Was  it  only 
insolence,  or  was  it  true  that  his  enemy  was  about  to 
escape  him?  The  thought  that  he  could  not  leave 
it  in  doubt  put  an  instant  end  to  his  indecisions. 

"I  shall  not  risk  it,"  he  said,  and  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  His  mother,  Margaret,  the  possible 
remonstrance  from  Schmidt,  each  in  turn  had  the 
thought  of  a  moment  and  then  were  dismissed  in 
turn  as  he  hurried  homeward.  Again  he  saw  Avig 
non  and  Carteaux'  dark  face,  and  heard  the  echo 
ing  memory  of  his  father's  death-cry,  "Yvonne! 
Yvonne!"  He  must  tell  Schmidt  if  he  were  in;  if 
not,  so  much  the  better,  and  he  would  go  alone.  He 
gave  no  thought  to  the  unwisdom  of  such  a  course. 
His  whole  mind  was  on  one  purpose,  and  the  need 
to  give  it  swift  and  definite'  fulfilment. 

He  was  not  sorry  that  Schmidt  was  not  at  home. 
He  sat  down  and  wrote  to  him  that  Carteaux  was  on 
his  wajr  to  embark  for  France  and  that  he  meant  to 
overtake  him.  Would  Schmidt  explain  to  his  mother 
his  absence  on  business?  Then  he  took  Schmidt's 
pistols  from  their  place  over  the  mantel,  loaded  and 


THE  BED  CITY  295 

primed  them,  and  put  half  a  dozen  bullets  and  a 
small  powder-horn  in  his  pocket.  To  carry  the  pis 
tols,  he  took  Schmidt's  saddle-holsters.  What  next? 
He  wrote  a  note  to  the  Secretary  that  he  was  called 
out  of  town  on  business,  but  would  return  next  day, 
and  would  Schmidt  send  it  as  directed.  He  felt  sure 
that  he  would  return.  As  he  stood  at  the  door  of 
Schmidt's  room,  Mrs.  Swanwick  said  from  the  foot 
of  the  stairs :  '  *  The  dinner  is  ready. ' ' 

"Then  it  must  wait  for  me  until  to-morrow.  I 
have  to  ride  on  a  business  matter  to  Bristol. ' ' 

"Thou  hadst  better  bide  for  thy  meal." 

"No,  I  cannot."  As  Mrs.  Swanwick  passed  into 
the  dining-room,  Margaret  came  from  the  withdraw- 
ing-room,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  opposite  to  him,  a 
china  bowl  of  the  late  autumnal  flowers  in  her  hands. 
Seeing  him  cloaked  and  booted  to  ride,  she  said : 

"Wilt  thou  not  stay  to  dine?  I  heard  thee  tell 
mother  thou  wouldst  not." 

"No;  I  have  a  matter  on  hand  which  requires 
haste." 

She  had  learned  to  read  his  face. 

"It  must  be  a  pleasant  errand,"  she  said.  "I 
wish  thee  success."  Thinking  as  he  stood  how  some 
ancestor  going  to  war  would  have  asked  for  a  glove, 
a  tress  of  hair,  to  carry  on  his  helmet,  he  said :  ' '  Give 
me  a  flower  for  luck. ' ' 

"No;  they  are  faded." 

"Ah,  I  shall  think  your  wish  a  rose— a  rose  that 
will  not  fade." 

She  colored  a  little  and  went  by  him,  saying  noth 
ing,  lest  she  might  say  too  much. 


296  THE  EED  CITY 

' '  Good-by !  * '  he  added,  and  went  out  the  hall  door, 
and  made  haste  to  reach  the  stables  of  the  Bull  and 
Bear,  where  Schmidt  kept  the  horses  De  Courval  was 
free  to  use.  He  was  about  to  do  a  rash  and,  as  men 
would  see  it,  a  foolish  thing.  He  laughed  as  he 
mounted.  He  knew  that  now  he  had  no  more  power 
to  stop  or  hesitate  than  the  stone  which  has  left  the 
sling. 

He  had  made  the  journey  to  New  York  more  than 
once,  and  as  he  rode  north  up  the  road  to  Bristol  in 
a  heavy  downfall  of  rain  he  reflected  that  Carteaux 
would  cross  the  Delaware  by  the  ferry  at  that  town, 
or  farther  on  at  Trenton. 

If  the  doctor  had  been  correct  as  to  the  time, 
Carteaux  had  started  at  least  an  hour  and  a  half 
before  him. 

It  was  still  raining  heavily  as  he  rode  out  of  the 
city,  and  as  the  gray  storm-clouds  would  shorten  the 
daylight,  he  pushed  on  at  speed,  sure  of  overtaking 
his  enemy  and  intently  on  guard.  He  stayed  a 
moment  beside  the  road  to  note  the  distance,  as  read 
on  a  mile-stone,  and  knew  he  had  come  seven  miles. 
That  would  answer.  He  smiled  as  he  saw  on  the 
stone  the  three  balls  of  the  Penn  arms,  popularly 
known  as  the  three  apple  dumplings.  A  moment 
later  his  horse  picked  up  a  pebble.  It  took  him  some 
minutes  to  get  it  out,  the  animal  being  restless. 
Glancing  at  his  watch,  he  rode  on  again,  annoyed  at 
even  so  small  a  loss  of  time. 

When,  being  about  three  miles  from  Bristol  town, 
and  looking  ahead  over  a  straight  line  of  road,  he 
suddenly  pulled  up  and  turned  into  the  shelter  of  a 


THE  BED  CITY  297 

wood.  Some  two  hundred  yards  away  were  two  or 
three  houses.  A  man  stood  at  the  roadside.  It  was 
Carteaux.  Rene  heard  the  clink  of  a  hammer  on  the 
anvil. 

To  be  sure  of  his  man,  he  fastened  his  horse  and 
moved  nearer  with  care,  keeping  within  the  edge  of 
the  wood.  Yes,  it  was  Carteaux.  The  doctor  had 
not  lied.  If  the  secretary  were  going  to  France,  or 
only  on  some  errand  to  New  York,  was  now  to  De 
Courval  of  small  moment.  His  horse  must  have  cast 
a  shoe.  As  Carteaux  rode  away  from  the  forge.  De 
Courval  mounted,  and  rode  on  more  rapidly. 

Within  two  miles  of  Bristol,  as  he  remembered, 
the  road  turned  at  a  sharp  angle  toward  the  river. 
A  half  mile  away  was  an  inn  where  the  coaches  for 
New  York  changed  horses.  It  was  now  five  o'clock, 
and  nearing  the  dusk  of  a  November  day.  The  rain 
was  over,  the  sky  darkening,  the  air  chilly,  the  leaves 
were  fluttering  slowly  down,  and  a  wild  gale  was 
roaring  in  the  great  forest  which  bounded  the  road. 
He  thought  of  the  gentler  angelus  of  another  evening, 
and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  bowed  his  head,  and  like 
many  a  Huguenot  noble  of  his  mother 's  race,  prayed 
God  that  his  enemy  should  be  delivered  into  his 
hands.  Then  he  stopped  his  horse  and  for  the  first 
time  recognized  that  it  had  been  raining  heavily  and 
that  it  were  well  to  renew  the  priming  of  his  pistols. 
He  attended  to  this  with  care,  and  then  rode  quickly 
around  the  turn  of  the  road,  and  came  upon  Car 
teaux  walking  his  horse. 

1 '  Stop,  Monsieur ! "  he  called,  and  in  an  instant  he 
was  beside  him. 


ft>8  THE  EED  CITY 

Carteaux  turned  at  the  call,  and,  puzzled  for  a 
moment,  said:  "What  is  it?"— and  then  at  once 
knew  the  man  at  his  side. 

He  was  himself  unarmed,  and  for  a  moment 
alarmed  as  he  saw  De  Courval 's  liand  on  the  pistol 
in  his  holster.  He  called  out,  '  *  Do  you  mean  to  mur 
der  me?" 

"Not  I.  You  will  dismount,  and  will  take  one  of 
my  pistols— either ;  they  are  loaded.  You  will  walk 
to  that  stump,  turn,  and  yourself  give  the  word,  an 
advantage,  as  you  may  perceive. ' ' 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

' '  In  that  case  I  shall  kill  you  with  no  more  mercy 
than  you  showed  my  father.  You  have  your  choice. 
Decide,  and  that  quickly." 

Having  dismounted  as  he  spoke,  he  stood  with  a 
grip  on  Carteaux'  bridle,  a  pistol  in  hand,  and  look 
ing  up  at  the  face  of  his  enemy.  Carteaux  hesitated 
a  moment,  with  a  glance  up  and  down  the  lonely 
highway. 

"Monsieur,"  said  De  Courval,  "I  am  not  here  to 
wait  on  your  decision.  I  purpose  to  give  you  the 
chance  I  should  give  a  gentleman;  but  take  care — at 
the  least  sign  of  treachery  I  shall  kill  you. ' ' 

Carteaux  looked  down  at  the  stern  face  of  the 
Huguenot  and  knew  that  he  had  no  choice. 

"I  accept,"  he  said,  and  dismounted.  De  Courval 
struck  the  horses  lightly,  and  having  seen  them  turn 
out  of  the  road,  faced  Carteaux,  a  pistol  in  each  hand. 

"I  have  just  now  renewed  the  primings,"  he  said. 
As  he  spoke,  he  held  out  the  weapons.  For  an  in 
stant  the  Jacobin  hesitated,  and  then  said  quickly : 


THE  EED  CITY  299 

"I  take  the  right-hand  pistol." 

"When  you  are  at  the  stump,  look  at  the  prim 
ing,"  said  De  Courval,  intently  on  guard.  "Now, 
Monsieur,  walk  to  the  stump  beside  the  road.  It  is 
about  twelve  paces.  You  see  it?" 

"Yes,  I  see  it." 

"Very  good.  At  the  stump,  cock  your  pistol,  turn, 
and  give  the  word,  '  Fire ! '  Reserve  your  shot  or  fire 
at  the  word— an  advantage,  as  you  perceive." 

The  Jacobin  turned  and  moved  away,  followed  by 
the  eye  of  a  man  distrustfully  on  the  watch. 

Rene  stood  still,  not  yet  cocking  his  weapon.  Car- 
teaux  walked  away.  When  he  had  gone  not  over  half 
the  distance  Rene  heard  the  click  of  a  cocked  pistol 
and  at  the  instant  Carteaux,  turning,  fired. 

Rene  threw  himself  to  right  and  felt  a  sharp 
twinge  of  pain  where  the  ball  grazed  the  skin  of  his 
left  shoulder.  '  *  Dog  of  a  Jacobin  ! "  he  cried,  and 
as  Carteaux  extended  his  pistol  hand  in  instinctive 
protest,  De  Courval  fired.  The  man 's  pistol  fell,  and 
with  a  cry  of  pain  he  reeled,  and,  as  the  smoke  blew 
away,  was  seen  to  pitch  forward  on  his  face. 

At  the  moment  of  the  shot,  and  while  Rene  stood 
still,  quickly  reloading,  he  heard  behind  him  a  wild 
gallop,  and,  turning,  saw  Schmidt  breathless  at  his 
side,  and  in  an  instant  out  of  the  saddle.  "Lieber 
Himmel!"  cried  the  German,  "have  you  killed 
him?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  but  if  he  is  not  dead.  I  shall  kill 
him ;  not  even  you  can  stop  me. ' ' 

"Ach!  but  I  will,  if  I  have  to  hold  you."  As  he 
spoke  he  set  himself  between  Rene  and  the  prostrate 


300  THE  RED  CITY 

man.  ' '  I  will  not  let  you  commit  murder.  Give  me 
that  pistol. " 

For  a  moment  Rene  stared  at  his  friend.  Then  a 
quick  remembrance  of  all  this  man  had  been  to  him, 
all  he  had  done  for  him,  rose  in  his  mind. 

"Have  your  way,  sir!"  he  cried,  throwing  down 
his  weapon ;  ' '  but  I  will  never  forgive  you,  never ! ' ' 

"Ach!  that  is  better,"  said  Schmidt.  "To-mor 
row  you  will  forgive  and  thank  me.  Let  us  look  at 
the  rascal." 

Together  they  moved  forward,  and  while  De  Cour- 
val  stood  by  in  silence,  Schmidt,  kneeling  beside  Car- 
teaux,  turned  over  his  insensible  body. 

"He  is  not  dead,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  Rene. 

'  *  I  am  sorry.  Your  coming  disturbed  my  aim.  I 
am  sorry  he  is  alive." 

"And  I  am  not;  but  not  much,  der  Teufel!  The 
ball  has  torn  his  arm,  and  is  in  the  shoulder.  If  he 
does  live,  he  is  for  life  a  maimed  man.  This  is  ven 
geance  worse  than  death."  As  he  spoke,  he  ripped 
open  Carteaux'  sleeve.  "Saprement!  how  the  beast 
bleeds!  He  will  fence  no  more."  The  man  lay 
silent  and  senseless  as  the  German  drew  from 
Carteaux '  pocket  a  handkerchief  and  tied  it  around 
his  arm.  "There  is  no  big  vessel  hurt.  Ach,  der 
Teufel!  What  errand  was  he  about?"  A  packet  of 
paper  had  fallen  out  with  the  removal  of  the  hand 
kerchief.  "It  is  addressed  to  him.  We  must  know. 
I  shall  open  it. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  surely  not ! ' '  said  Rene. 

Schmidt  laughed.  "You  would  murder  a  man, 
but  respect  his  letters. ' ' 


THE  EED  CITY  301 

"Yes,  I  should." 

"My  conscience  is  at  ease.  This  is  war."  As  he 
spoke,  he  tore  open  the  envelop.  Then  he  whistled 
low.  ' '  Here  is  a  devil  of  a  business,  Rene  ! ' ' 

"What  is  it,  sir?" 

"A  despatch  from  Fauchet  to  the  minister  of  For 
eign  Affairs  in  Paris.  Here  is  trouble,  indeed.  You 
waylay  and  half -kill  the  secretary  of  an  envoy — you, 
a  clerk  of  the  State  Department — ' : 

"Mon  Dieu!  Must  he  always  bring  me  disaster?" 
cried  Rene.  He  saw  with  utter  dismay  the  far- 
reaching  consequences  of  his  rash  act. 

"It  is  to  the  care  of  the  captain  of  the  Jean  Bart, 
New  York  Harbor.  The  Jacobin  party  will  have  a 
fine  cry.  The  State  Department  will  have  sent  a 
man  to  rob  a  bearer  of  despatches.  Who  will  know 
or  believe  it  was  a  private  quarrel  ? ' ' 

' '  How  could  I  know  his  errand  ? ' ' 

* '  That  will  not  save  you.  Your  debt  is  paid  with 
interest,  but  at  bitter  cost.  And  what  now  to  do  ? " 
He  stood  in  the  road,  silent  for  a  moment,  deep  in 
thought.  "  If  he  dies,  it  must  all  be  told. ' ' 

* '  I  should  tell  it  myself.    I  do  not  care. ' ' 

"But  I  very  much  care.  If  he  lives,  he  will  say 
you  set  upon  him,  an  unarmed  man,  and  stole  his 
despatches. ' ' 

"Then  leave  them." 

'  *  That  were  as  bad.  I  saw  his  treachery ;  but  who 
will  believe  me?  I  must  stay  by  him,  and  see  what 
I  can  do." 

Meanwhile  the  man  lay  speechless.  Rene  looked 
down  at  him  and  then  at  Schmidt.  He,  too,  was 


302  THE  BED  CITY 

thinking.  In  a  moment  he  said:  "This  at  least  is 
clear.  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  go  on  this  hound's 
errand,  and  to  see  that  these  papers  reach  the  Jean 
Bart." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Schmidt;  "entirely  right. 
But  you  must  not  be  seen  here.  Find  your  way 
through  the  woods,  and  when  it  is  dark — in  an  hour 
it  will  be  night — ride  through  Bristol  to  Trenton, 
cross  the  river  there  at  the  ferry.  No  one  will  be 
out  of  doors  in  Trenton  or  Bristol  on  a  night  like 
this.  Listen  to  the  wind !  Now  go.  When  you  are 
in  New  York,  see  Mr.  Nicholas  Gouverneur  in  Beaver 
Street.  At  need,  tell  him  the  whole  story;  but  not 
if  you  can  help  it.  Here  is  money,  but  not  enough. 
He  will  provide  what  you  require.  Come  back 
through  the  Jerseys,  and  cross  at  Camden.  I  shall 
secure  help  here,  go  to  town,  get  a  doctor,  and  re 
turn.  I  must  talk  to  this  man  if  he  lives,  else  he  will 
lie  about  you. ' ' 

"You  will  excuse  me  to  the  Secretary?" 

"Yes;  yes,  of  course.  Now  go.  These  people  at 
the  inn  must  not  see  you." 

He  watched  him  ride  away  into  the  wood.  "It  is 
a  sorry  business,"  he  said  as  he  knelt  down  to  give 
the  fallen  man  brandy  from  the  flask  he  found  in  his 
saddle-bag. 

Within  an  hour  Carteaux,  still  insensible,  was  at 
Bisanet's  Inn,  a  neighboring  doctor  found,  and  that 
good  Samaritan  Schmidt,  after  a  fine  tale  of  high 
waymen,  was  in  the  saddle  and  away  to  town,  leav 
ing  Carteaux  delirious. 

He  went  at  once  to  the  house  of  Chovet  and  found 


THE  BED  CITY  303 

him  at  home.  It  was  essential  to  have  some  one  who 
could  talk  French. 

' '  At  your  service, ' '  said  the  doctor. 

"Why  the  devil  did  you  send  De  Courval  after 
Carteaux  this  morning  ? ' ' 

"I  never  meant  to." 

"But  you  did.  You  have  made  no  end  of  mis 
chief.  Now  listen.  I  need  you  because  you  speak 
French.  Can  you  hold  your  tongue,  if  to  hold  it 
means  money?  Oh,  a  good  deal.  If  you  breathe  a 
word  of  what  you  hear  or  see,  I  will  half-kill  you. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  Monsieur,  I  am  the  soul  of  honor. ' ' 

"Indeed.  Why,  then,  does  it  trouble  you?  Ow 
ing  to  your  damned  mischief-making,  De  Courval 
has  shot  Carteaux.  You  are  to  go  to  the  inn,  Bisa- 
net's,  near  Bristol,  to-night,  and  as  often  afterward 
as  is  needed.  I  shall  pay,  and  generously,  if  he  does 
not— but,  remember,  no  one  is  to  know.  A  high 
wayman  shot  him.  Do  you  understand?  I  found 
him  on  the  road,  wounded. ' ' 

"Yes;  but  it  is  late." 

"You  go  at  once." 

"I  go,  Monsieur." 

Then  Schmidt  went  home,  and  ingeniously  ac 
counted  to  Madame,  and  in  a  note  to  Randolph,  for 
Hene's  absence  in  New  York. 

As  he  sat  alone  that  night  he  again  carefully  con 
sidered  the  matter.  Yes,  if  Carteaux  died  not  hav 
ing  spoken,  the  story  would  have  to  be  told.  The 
despatch  would  never  be  heard  of,  or  if  its  singular 
fortune  in  going  on  its  way  were  ever  known  and 
discussed,  that  was  far  in  the  future,  and  Schmidt 


304  THE  BED  CITY 

had  a  strong  belief  in  many  things  happening  or 
not  happening. 

And  if,  too,  despite  his  presumed  power  to  close 
Carteaux'  lips,  the  injured  man  should  sooner  or 
later  charge  Rene  with  his  wound  and  the  theft  of 
the  despatch,  Schmidt,  too,  would  have  a  story  to 
tell. 

Finally— and  this  troubled  his  decisions— suppose 
that  at  once  he  frankly  told  Fauchet  and  the  Secre 
tary  of  State  what  had  happened.  "Would  he  be 
believed  by  Fauchet  in  the  face  of  what  Carteaux 
would  say,  or  would  Rene  be  believed  or  that  he  had 
honorably  gone  on  his  enemy 's  errand?  The  Jean 
Bart  would  have  sailed.  Months  must  pass  before 
the  news  of  the  reception  of  the  despatch  could  in 
the  ordinary  state  of  things  be  heard  of,  and  now  the 
sea  swarmed  with  British  cruisers,  and  the  French 
frigates  were  sadly  unsafe.  To-morrow  he  must  see 
Carteaux,  and  at  once  let  Fauchet  learn  the  condi 
tion  of  his  secretary.  He  returned  to  his  trust  in 
the  many  things  that  may  happen,  and,  lighting  a 
pipe,  fell  upon  his  favorite  Montaigne. 

He  might  have  been  less  at  ease  could  he  have 
dreamed  what  mischief  that  despatch  was  about  to 
make  or  what  more  remote  trouble  it  was  to  create 
for  the  harassed  President  and  his  cabinet. 


XXI 

AT  noon  next  day  a  tired  rider  left  his  horse  at  an 
J\.  inn  in  Perth  Amboy  and  boarded  the  sloop 
which  was  to  take  him  to  New  York,  if  tide  and  wind 
served.  Both  at  this  time  were  less  good  to  him  than 
usual,  and  he  drifted  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  and 
all  night  on  the  bay. 

At  length,  set  ashore  on  the  Battery,  he  was  pres 
ently  with  a  merchant,  in  those  days  of  leisurely 
ventures  altogether  a  large  personage,  merchant  and 
ship-master,  capable,  accurate,  enterprising,  some 
thing  of  the  great  gentleman,  quick  to  perceive  a 
slight  and  at  need  to  avenge  it,  a  lost  type  to-day— 
a  Dutch  cross  on  Huguenot  French.  Mr.  Nicholas 
Gouverneur  was  glad  to  see  once  more  the  Vicomte 
de  Courval.  His  own  people,  too,  had  suffered  in 
other  days  for  their  religion,  and  if  Rene 's  ancestors 
had  paid  in  the  far  past  unpleasant  penalties  for  the 
respectable  crime  of  treason  to  the  king,  had  not  one 
of  Mr.  Gouverneur 's  ancestors  had  a  similar  distinc 
tion,  having  been  hanged  for  high  treason  ?  '  *  Ah,  of 
course  he  told  you  the  story,  Rene,"  said  Schmidt 
when  he  heard  of  this  interview. 

Mr.  Gouverneur,  having  offered  the  inevitable  hos 
pitality  of  his  sideboard,  was  in  no  hurry. 

Rene,  although  in  hot  haste  to  be  done  with  his 
305 


306  THE  EED  CITY 

strange  errand,  knew  better  than  to  disturb  the  for 
malities  of  welcome.  He  must  inquire  after  Mrs. 
Gouverneur,  and  must  answer  for  his  mother.  At 
last  his  host  said :  '  *  You  do  small  justice  to  my  rum, 
Vicomte.  It  is  as  unused  to  neglect  as  any  young 
woman.  But,  pardon  me,  you  look  tired,  and  as  if 
you  had  made  a  hard  journey.  I  see  that  you  are 
anxious  and  too  polite  to  interrupt  a  garrulous  man. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  or  our  friend  Schmidt  ? ' ' 

"I  have  this  packet  of  papers  which  should  go  at 
once  to  the  corvette  Jean  Bart.  One  Francois-Guil- 
laume  Need  is  the  Captain." 

"And  I  have  been  delaying  you.  Pray  pardon 
me.  Despatches,  I  suppose,  for  my  cousin  Gouver 
neur  Morris."  Rene  did  not  contradict  him.  "We 
will  see  to  it  at  once,  at  once.  The  Jean  Bart  sails 
to-night,  I  hear.  She  has  waited,  we  knew  not 
why." 

"For  these  despatches,  sir.  Can  I  not  be  set 
aboard  of  her  at  once  ? ' ' 

"Surely,"  said  Gouverneur;  "come  with  me." 

As  they  walked  toward  the  water  Mr.  Gouverneur 
said:  "You  have,  I  think  you  told  me,  a  despatch  for 
the  captain  of  the  corvette.  Let  me  urgently  advise 
you  not  to  board  that  vessel.  My  boat  shall  take  you 
to  the  ship,— deliver  your  despatch,— but  let  nothing 
tempt  you  to  set  foot  on  her  deck.  We  are  not  on 
very  good  terms  with  France ;  you  are  still  a  French 
citizen.  Several  of  the  corvette's  officers  have  been 
in  Philadelphia.  If  you  are  recognized  as  a  French 
noble,  you  will  never  see  America  again.  You 
know  what  fate  awaits  an  emigre  in  Paris ;  not  even 


THE  BED  CITY  307 

your  position  in  the  Department  of  State  would  save 
you." 

De  Courval  returned:  "You  are  no  doubt  right, 
sir.  I  had  already  thought  of  the  risk—" 

' '  There  need  be  none  if  you  are  prudent. ' ' 

"But  I  ought  to  receive  a  receipt  for  the  papers 
I  deliver." 

"That  is  hardly  needed— unusual,  I  should  say; 
Mr.  Randolph  will  scarcely  expect  that. ' ' 

De  Courval  was  not  inclined  to  set  the  merchant 
right  in  regard  to  the  character  of  the  despatches, 
for  it  might  then  be  necessary  to  tell  the  whole  story. 
He  made  no  direct  reply,  but  said  merely:  "I  am 
most  grateful — I  shall  have  the  honor  to  take  your 
advice.  Ah,  here  is  the  boat. ' ' 

"It  is  my  own  barge,"  said  Gouverneur.  "Be 
careful.  Yonder  is  the  corvette,  a  short  pull.  I 
shall  wait  for  you  here." 

In  a  few  minutes  De  Courval  was  beside  the  gang 
way  of  the  corvette.  He  called  to  a  sailor  on  the 
deck  that  he  wished  to  see  an  officer.  Presently  a 
young  lieutenant  came  down  the  steps.  De  Courval 
said  in  French,  as  he  handed  the  officer  the  packet  of 
papers : 

' '  This  is  a  despatch,  Citizen,  from  Citizen  Minister 
Fauchet,  addressed  to  the  care  of  your  captain. 
Have  the  kindness  to  give  it  to  him  and  ask  for  a 
receipt. ' ' 

The  lieutenant  went  on  deck  and  very  soon  re 
turned. 

"The  receipt,  please,"  said  De  Courval. 

'  *  Captain  Need  desires  me  to  say  that,  although  it 


308  THE  RED  CITY 

is  unusual  to  give  a  receipt  for  such  papers,  he  will 
do  so  if  you  will  come  to  the  cabin.  He  wishes  to 
ask  questions  about  the  British  cruisers,  and  may 
desire  to  send  a  letter  to  Citizen  Minister  Fauchet." 

"I  cannot  wait.  I  am  in  haste  to  return,"  said 
De  Courval. 

"Le  diable,  Citizen!  He  will  be  furious.  We  sail 
at  once— at  once ;  you  will  not  be  delayed. " 

Rene  thought  otherwise. 

' '  Very  well ;  I  can  but  give  your  reply.  It  seems 
to  me  strange.  You  will  hear  of  it  some  day,  Citi 
zen." 

As  soon  as  the  officer  disappeared,  Rene  said  to  his 
boatman:  "Quick!  Get  away — get  me  ashore  as 
soon  as  you  can ! ' ' 

Pursuit  from  a  man-of-war  boat  was  possible,  if 
one  lay  ready  on  the  farther  side  of  the  corvette.  He 
had,  however,  only  a  ten  minutes'  row  before  he 
stood  beside  Mr.  Gouverneur  on  the  Battery  slip. 

'  *  I  am  a  little  relieved, ' '  said  the  older  man.  ' '  Did 
you  get  the  acknowledgment  of  receipt  you  wanted  ? ' ' 

"No,  sir.  It  was  conditioned  upon  my  going 
aboard  to  the  captain's  cabin." 

"Ah,  well,  I  do  not  suppose  that  Mr.  Randolph 
will  care. ' ' 

' '  Probably  not. ' '  Rene  had  desired  some  evidence 
of  his  singular  mission,  but  the  immense  importance 
of  it  as  proof  of  his  good  faith  was  not  at  the  time 
fully  apprehended.  The  despatch  had  gone  on  its 
way,  and  he  had  done  honorably  his  enemy's  er 
rand. 

"And  now,"  said  the  merchant,  "let  us  go  to  my 


THE  RED  CITY  309 

house  and  see  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  and  above  all  have 
dinner. ' ' 

Rene  had  thought  that  flight  might  be  needed  if 
he  carried  out  his  fatal  purpose,  and  he  had  there 
fore  put  in  his  saddle-bags  enough  garments  to  re 
place  the  muddy  dress  of  a  hard  ride.  He  had  said 
that  he  must  leave  at  dawn,  and  having  laid  aside 
the  cares  of  the  last  days,  he  gave  himself  up 
joyously  to  the  charm  of  the  refined  hospitality  of 
his  hosts. 

As  they  turned  away,  the  corvette  was  setting  her 
sails  and  the  cries  of  the  sailors  and  the  creak  of  the 
windlass  showed  the  anchor  was  being  raised.  Be 
fore  they  had  reached  Gouverneur 's  house  she  was 
under  way,  with  papers  destined  to  make  trouble  for 
many. 

As  Rene  lay  at  rest  that  night  within  the  curtained 
bed,  no  man  on  Manhattan  Island  could  have  been 
more  agreeably  at  ease  with  his  world.  The  worry 
of  indecision  was  over.  He  felt  with  honest  con 
viction  that  his  prayer  for  the  downfall  of  his  enemy 
had  been  answered,  and  in  this  cooler  hour  he  knew 
with  gratitude  that  his  brute  will  to  kill  had  been 
wisely  denied  its  desire.  It  had  seemed  to  him  at 
the  time  that  to  act  on  his  instinct  was  only  to  do 
swift  justice  on  a  criminal;  but  he  had  been  given  a 
day  to  reflect  and  acknowledged  the  saner  wisdom  of 
the  morrow. 

Further  thought  should  have  left  him  less  well 
pleased  at  what  the  future  might  hold  for  him. 
But  the  despatch  had  gone,  his  errand  was  done. 
An  image  of  Margaret  in  the  splendor  of  brocade 


310  THE  EED  CITY 

and  lace  haunted  the  dreamy  interval  between  the 
waking  state  and  the  wholesome  sleep  of  tired  youth. 
Moreover,  the  good  merchant's  Madeira  had  its 
power  of  somnolent  charm,  and,  thus  soothed,  De 
Courval  passed  into  a  world  of  visionless  slumber. 

He  rode  back  through  the  Jerseys  to  avoid  Bristol 
and  the  scene  of  his  encounter,  and,  finding  at  Cam- 
den  a  flat  barge  returning  to  Philadelphia,  was  able, 
as  the  river  was  open  and  free  of  ice,  to  get  his  horse 
aboard  and  thus  to  return  with  some  renewal  of 
anxiety  to  Mrs.  Swanwick's  house.  No  one  was  at 
home;  but  Nanny  told  him  that  Mr.  Schmidt,  who 
had  been  absent,  had  returned  two  days  before,  but 
was  out.  Miss  Margaret  was  at  the  Hill,  and  June, 
the  cat,  off  for  two  days  on  love-affairs  or  predatory 
business. 

He  went  up-stairs  to  see  his  mother.  Should  he 
tell  her?  On  the  whole,  it  was  better  not  to  speak 
until  he  had  seen  Schmidt.  He  amused  her  with  an 
account  of  having  been  sent  to  New  York  on  business 
and  then  spoke  of  the  Gouverneur  family  and  their 
Huguenot  descent.  He  went  away  satisfied  that  he 
had  left  her  at  ease,  which  was  not  quite  the  case. 
"Something  has  happened,"  she  said  to  herself. 
' '  By  and  by  he  will  tell  me.  Is  it  the  girl  ?  I  trust 
not.  Or  that  man  ?  Hardly. ' ' 

The  supper  passed  in  quiet,  with  light  talk  of 
familiar  things,  the  vicomtesse,  always  a  taciturn 
woman,  saying  but  little. 

As  De  Courval  sat  down,  her  black  dress,  the 
silvery  quiet  of  Mrs.  Swanwick's  garb,  her  notably 
gentle  voice,  the  simple  room  without  colors,  th<; 


THE  RED  CITY  311 

sanded  floor,  the  spotless  cleanliness  of  the  table 
furniture,  of  a  sudden  struck  him  as  he  thought  of 
the  violence  and  anger  of  the  scene  on  the  Bristol 
road.  What  would  this  gentle  Friend  say,  and  the 
Pearl  ?  What,  indeed ! 

Supper  was  just  over  when,  to  Rene's  relief, 
Schmidt  appeared.  He  nodded  coolly  to  Rene  and 
said,  laughing:  "Ah,  Frau  Swanwick,  I  have  not 
had  a  chance  to  growl;  but  when  I  go  again  to  the 
country,  I  shall  take  Nanny.  I  survive;  but  the 
diet ! "  He  gave  an  amusing  account  of  it.  ' '  Pork- 
it  is  because  of  the  unanimous  pig.  Pies— ach!— 
cabbage,  a  sour  woman  and  sour  bread,  chicken 
rigged  with  hemp  and  with  bosoms  which  need  not 
stays. ' '  Even  the  vicomtesse  smiled.  ' 1 1  have  dined 
at  Mr.  Morris's,  to  my  relief.  Come,  Rene,  let  us 
smoke. ' ' 

When  once  at  ease  in  his  room,  he  exclaimed : 
"  Potstausend,  Rene,  I  am  out  of  debt.  The  years  I 
used  to  count  to  be  paid  are  settled.  Two  days' 
watching  that  delirious  swine  and  bottling  up  the 
gossiping  little  demon  Chovet !  A  pipe,  a  pipe,  and 
then  I  shall  tell  you." 

' '  Indeed,  I  have  waited  long. ' ' 

"Chovet  told  Fauchet  at  my  request  of  this  re 
grettable  affair.  He  is  uneasy,  and  he  well  may  be, 
concerning  all  there  is  left  of  his  secretary. ' ' 

' '  Then  he  is  alive, ' '  said  Rene ; ' '  and  will  he  live  ? ' ' 

"Alive?  Yes,  very  much  alive,  raving  at  times 
like  a  madman  haunted  by  hell  fiends.  I  had  to  stay. 
After  a  day  he  was  clear  of  head,  but  as  weak  as  a 
man  can  be  with  the  two  maladies  of  a  ball  in  a 


312  THE  BED  CITY 

palsied  shoulder  and  a  doctor  looking  for  it.  Yes, 
he  will  live ;  and  alive  or  dead  will  make  mischief. ' ' 

"Did  he  talk  to  you?" 

"Yes.  He  has  no  memory  of  my  coming  at  the 
time  he  was  shot.  I  think  he  did  not  see  me  at  all. ' ' 

"Well,  what  else?" 

*  *  I  told  him  the  whole  story,  and  what  I  had  seen 
him  do.  I  was  plain,  too,  and  said  that  I  had  found 
his  despatch,  and  you,  being  a  gentleman,  must  needs 
see  that  it  went.  He  saw,  I  suspect,  what  other 
motive  you  had— if  he  believed  me  at  all." 

' '  But  did  he  believe  you  1    Does  he  ? " 

"No,  he  does  not.  I  said,  'You  are  scamp  enough 
to  swear  that  we  set  on  you  to  steal  your  papers,  a 
fine  tale  for  our  Jacobin  mobocrats. '  A  fellow  can 't 
lie  with  his  whole  face.  I  saw  his  eyes  narrow,  but 
I  told  him  to  try  it  if  he  dared,  and  out  comes  my 
tale  of  his  treachery.  We  made  a  compact  at  last, 
and  he  will  swear  he  was  set  upon  and  robbed.  I 
left  him  to  invent  his  story.  But  it  is  plainly  his 
interest  to  keep  faith,  and  not  accuse  you." 

"He  will  not  keep  faith.  Sometime  he  will  lie 
about  me.  The  despatch  has  gone  by  the  Jean  Bart, 
but  that  part  of  our  defense  is  far  to  reach. '  * 

"Well,  Chovet  is  gold  dumb,  and  as  for  the 
Jacobin,  no  man  can  tell.  If  he  be  wise,  he  will  stick 
to  his  tale  of  highwaymen.  Of  course  I  asked  Chovet 
to  let  the  minister  learn  of  this  sad  accident,  but  he 
did  not  arrive  until  after  I  had  the  fellow  well 
scared. ' ' 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No.    The  man  is  in  torment.    Damn!    if  I  were 


THE  RED  CITY  313 

in  pain  like  that,  I  should  kill  myself.  Except  that 
fever,  I  never  had  anything  worse  than  a  stomach 
ache  in  all  my  life.  The  man  is  on  the  rack,  and 
Chovet  declares  that  he  will  never  use  the  arm  again, 
and  will  have  some  daily  reminder  of  you  so  long  as 
he  lives.  Now,  Rene,  a  man  on  the  rack  may  come 
to  say  things  of  the  gentleman  who  turned  on  the 
torture. ' ' 

' '  Then  some  day  he  will  lie,  and  I,  mon  Dieu,  will 
be  ruined.  Who  will  believe  me?  The  State  De 
partment  will  get  the  credit  of  it,  and  I  shall  be 
thrown  over— sacrificed  to  the  wolves  of  party  slan 
der." 

" Not  if  I  am  here/'  ' 

' 'If  you  are  here?" 

' '  Yes.    At  any  time  I  may  have  to  go  home. ' ' 

"Then  let  us  tell  the  whole  story." 

"Yes,  if  we  must;  but  wait.  Why  go  in  search  of 
trouble?  For  a  time,  perhaps  always,  he  will  be 
silent.  Did  you  get  a  receipt  for  the  despatch  ? ' ' 

"No.  The  captain  would  not  give  one  unless  I 
went  to  his  cabin  and  that  I  dared  not  do. ' ' 

"I,  as  the  older  man,  should  have  pointed  out  to 
you  the  need  of  using  every  possible  means  to  get 
an  acknowledgment  from  the  captain ;  but  you  were 
right.  Had  you  gone  on  board  the  ship,  you  would 
never  have  left  her.  Well,  then  there  is  more  need 
to  play  a  silent,  waiting  game  until  we  know,  as  we 
shall,  of  the  papers  having  reached  their  destina 
tion.  In  fact,  there  is  nothing  else  to  do.  There  will 
be  a  nice  fuss  over  the  papers,  and  then  it  will  all  be 
forgotten. ' ' 


314  THE  BED  CITY 

' '  Yes,  unless  he  speaks. ' ' 

"If  he  does,  there  are  other  cards  in  my  hand. 
Meanwhile,  being  a  good  Samaritan,  I  have  again 
seen  Carteaux.  He  will,  I  think,  be  silent  for  a 
while.  Be  at  ease,  my  son;  and  now  I  must  go  to 
bed.  I  am  tired. ' ' 

This  was  one  of  many  talks;  none  of  them  left 
Rene  at  ease.  How  could  he  as  yet  involve  a  woman 
he  loved  in  his  still  uncertain  fate?  He  was  by  no 
means  sure  that  she  loved  him ;  that  she  might  come 
to  do  so  he  felt  to  be  merely  possible,  for  the  modesty 
of  love  made  him  undervalue  himself  and  see  her  as 
far  beyond  his  deserts.  His  mother's  prejudices 
troubled  him  less.  Love  consults  no  peerage  and  he 
had  long  ago  ceased  to  think  as  his  mother  did  of  a 
title  which  had  no  legal  existence. 

It  was  natural  enough  that  an  event  as  grave  as 
this  encounter  with  Carteaux  should  leave  on  a 
young  man's  mind  a  deep  impression;  nor  had  his 
talk  with  Schmidt,  the  night  before,  enabled  him, 
as  next  day  he  walked  to  the  State  Department,  to 
feel  entirely  satisfied.  The  news  of  the  highway 
robbery  had  been  for  two  days  the  city  gossip,  and 
already  the  gazettes  were  considering  it  in  a  leisurely 
fashion;  but  as  no  journals  reached  the  widow's 
house  unless  brought  thither  by  Schmidt,  the  ameni 
ties  of  the  press  in  regard  to  the  assault  and  the 
administration  were  as  yet  unseen  by  De  Courval. 
On  the  steps  of  the  Department  of  State  he  met  the 
Marquis  de  Noailles,  who  greeted  him  cheerfully, 
asking  if  he  had  read  what  Mr.  Bache  and  the 
"Aurora"  said  of  the  attack  oja  Carteaux. 


THE  KED  CITY  315 

Rene  felt  the  cold  chill  of  too  conscious  knowledge 
as  he  replied :  * '  Not  yet,  Marquis.  I  am  but  yester 
day  come  from  New  York. ' ' 

"Well,  it  should  interest  Mr.  Randolph.  It  does 
appear  to  Mr.  Bache  that  no  one  except  the  English 
party  and  the  Federals  could  profit  by  the  theft. 
How  they  could  be  the  better  by  the  gossip  of  this 
sacre  Jacobin  actor  in  the  role  of  a  minister  the  ~bon 
Dieu  alone  knows. ' ' 

Rene  laughed.    ' '  You  are  descriptive,  Marquis. ' ' 

''Who  would  not  be?  But,  my  dear  De  Courval, 
you  must  regret  that  you  were  not  the  remarkable 
highwayman  who  stole  Fauchet's  eloquence  and  left 
a  gold 'watch  and  seals;  but  here  comes  Mr.  Ran 
dolph.  He  may  explain  it ;  at  all  events,  if  he  con 
fides  to  you  the  name  of  that  robber,  send  the  man  to 
me.  I  will  pay  five  dollars  apiece  for  Jacobin  scalps. 
Adieu.  My  regrets  that  you  are  not  the  man." 

Mr.  Randolph  was  cool  as  they  went  in  together, 
and  made  it  plain  that  absence  without  leave  on  the 
part  of  a  clerk  was  an  embarrassment  to  the  public 
service  of  the  State  Department,  in  which  were  only 
three  or  four  clerks.  De  Courval  could  only  say 
that  imperative  private  business  had  taken  him  out 
of  town.  It  would  not  occur  again.  Upon  this  Mr. 
Randolph  began  to  discuss  the  amazing  assault  and 
robbery  with  which  town  gossip  was  so  busy.  Mr. 
Fauchet  had  been  insolent,  and,  asking  aid  in  discov 
ering  the  thief,  had  plainly  implied  that  more  than 
he  and  his  government  would  suffer  if  the  despatch 
were  not  soon  restored  to  the  minister.  Mr.  Ran 
dolph  had  been  much  amused,  a  little  angry  and  also 


316  THE  BED  CITY 

puzzled.  "It  had  proved,"  he  said,  "a  fine  weapon 
in  the  hands  of  the  Democrats."  The  young  man 
was  glad  to  shift  the  talk,  but  wherever  he  went  for 
a  few  days,  people,  knowing  of  his  duel,  were  sure 
to  talk  to  him  of  this  mysterious  business.  Later 
the  ' '  Aurora ' '  and  Mr.  Bache,  who  had  taken  up  the 
role  in  which  Mr.  Freneau  had  acted  with  skill  and 
ill  temper,  made  wild  use  of  the  story  and  of  the 
value  of  the  stolen  papers  to  a  criminal  cabinet.  Over 
their  classic  signatures  Cato  and  Aristides  challenged 
Democratic  Socrates  or  Cicero  to  say  how  General 
Washington  would  be  the  better  for  knowledge  of  the 
rant  of  the  strolling  player  Fauchet.  Very  soon, 
however,  people  ceased  to  talk  of  it.  It  was  "an  un 
solved  mystery.  But  for  one  man  torment  of  body 
and  distress  of  mind  kept  ever  present  the  will  and 
wish  to  be  without  risk  revenged.  He*was  already, 
as  he  knew,  persona  non  grata,  and  to  have  Schmidt 's 
story  told  and  believed  was  for  the  secretary  to  be 
sent  home  in  disgrace.  He  waited,  seeing  no  way  as 
yet  to  acquit  himself  of  this  growing  debt. 

January  of  1795  came  in  with  the  cabinet  changes 
already  long  expected.  Carteaux  was  still  very  ill  in 
bed,  with  doctors  searching  for  the  bullet.  As  yet 
he  told  only  of  being  robbed  of  his  despatches  and 
that  he  had  lost  neither  watch  nor  purse,  which  was 
conclusive.  Whereupon  Fauchet  talked  and  insulted 
Randolph,  and  the  Democratic  clubs  raved  with  dark 
hints  and  insinuations,  while  the  despatch  went  on 
its  way,  not  to  be  heard  of  for  months  to  come. 
Rene,  who  was  for  a  time  uneasy  and  disliked  the 


THE  EED  CITY  317 

secrecy  thrown  about  an  action  of  which  he  was  far 
from  ashamed,  began  at  last  to  feel  relieved,  and 
thus  the  midwinter  was  over  and  the  days  began 
noticeably  to  lengthen. 


XXII 

"TET  us  skate  to-night.  I  have  tried  the  ice,"  said 
JLJ  Schmidt,  one  afternoon  in  February.  "  Pearl 
learned,  as  you  know,  long  ago."  She  was  in  town 
for  a  week,  the  conspirators  feeling  assured  of  Rene 's 
resolution  to  wait  on  this,  as  on  another  matter, 
while  he  was  busy  with  his  double  work.  Her 
mother  had  grown  rebellious  over  her  long  absence, 
and  determined  that  she  should  remain  in  town, 
as  there  seemed  to  be  no  longer  cause  for  fear  and 
the  girl  was  in  perfect  health.  Aunt  Gainor,  also, 
was  eager  for  town  and  piquet  and  well  pleased  with 
the  excuse  to  return,  having  remained  at  the  Hill 
long  after  her  usual  time. 

"The  moon  is  a  fair,  full  matron,"  said  Schmidt. 
"The  ice  is  perfect.  Look  out  for  air-holes,  Rene," 
he  added,  as  he  buckled  on  his  skates.  "Not  ready 
yet  ? ' '  Rene  was  kneeling  and  fastening  the  Pearl 's 
skates.  It  took  long. 

"Oh,  hurry!"  she  cried.  "I  cannot  wait."  She 
was  joyous,  excited,  and  he  somehow  awkward. 

Then  they  were  away  over  the  shining,  moon 
lighted  ice  of  the  broad  Delaware  with  that  exhilara 
tion  which  is  caused  by  swift  movement,  the  easy 
product  of  perfect  physical  capacity.  For  a  time 
they  skated  quietly  side  by  side,  Schmidt,  as  usual, 

318 


THE  BED  CITY  319 

enjoying  an  exercise  in  which,  says  Gray  don  in  his 
memoirs,  the  gentlemen  of  Philadelphia  were  un 
rivaled.  Nearer  the  city  front,  on  the  great  ice  plain, 
were  many  bonfires,  about  which  phantom  figures 
flitted  now  an  instant  black  in  profile,  and  then  lost 
in  the  unillumined  spaces,  while  far  away,  opposite 
to  the  town,  hundreds  of  skaters  carrying  lanterns 
were  seen  or  lost  to  view  in  the  quick  turns  of  the 
moving  figures.  ' '  Like  great  fireflies, ' '  said  Schmidt. 
A  few  dim  lights  in  houses  and  frost-caught  ships 
and  faint,  moonlit  outlines  alone  revealed  the  place 
of  the  city.  The  cries  and  laughter  were  soon  lost 
to  the  three  skaters,  and  a  vast  solitude  received 
them  as  they  passed  down  the  river. 

4 'Ah,  the  gray  moonlight  and  the  gray  ice!"  said 
Schmidt,  "a  Quaker  night,  Pearl." 

' '  And  the  moon  a  great  pearl, ' '  she  cried. 

* '  How  one  feels  the  night ! ' '  said  the  German.  ' '  It 
is  as  on  the  Sahara.  Only  in  the  loneliness  of  great 
spaces  am  I  able  to  feel  eternity ;  for  space  is  time. ' ' 
He  had  his  quick  bits  of  talk  to  himself.  Both  young 
people,  more  vaguely  aware  of  some  sense  of  awe  in 
the  dim  unpeopled  plain,  were  under  the  charm  of 
immense  physical  joy  in  the  magic  of  easily  won 
motion. 

''Surely  there  is  nothing  like  it,"  said  Rene, 
happy  and  breathless,  having  only  of  late  learned  to 
skate,  whereas  Pearl  had  long  since  been  well  taught 
by  the  German  friend. 

"No,"  said  Schmidt;  "there  is  nothing  like  it, 
except  the  quick  sweep  of  a  canoe  down  a  rapid. 
A  false  turn  of  the  paddle,  and  there  is  death.  Oh, 


320  THE  EED  CITY 

but  there  is  joy  in  the  added  peril!  The  blood  of 
the  Angles  finds  the  marge  of  danger  sweet. ' ' 

"Not  for  me,"  said  Pearl;  "but  we  are  safe 
here." 

"I  have  not  found  your  Delaware  a  constant 
friend.  How  is  that,  Rent-  ? ' ' 

"What  dost  thou  mean?"  said  Pearl.  "Thou 
art  fond  of  teasing  my  curiosity,  and  I  am  c;  tious, 
too.  Tell  me,  please.  Oh,  but  thou  must ! ' ' 

"Ask  the  vicomte,"  cried  Schmidt.  "He  will  tell 
you." 

i '  Oh,  will  he,  indeed  ? ' '  said  Rene,  laughing.  ' '  Ah, 
I  am  quite  out  of  breath. ' ' 

"Then  rest  a  little."  As  they  halted,  a  swift 
skater,  seeking  the  loneliness  of  the  river  below  the 
town,  approaching,  spoke  to  Margaret,  and  then 
said:  "Ah,  Mr.  Schmidt,  what  luck  to  find  you! 
You  were  to  give  me  a  lesson.  Why  not  now  ? ' ' 

"Come,  then,"  returned  Schmidt.  "I  brought 
you  hither,  Rene,  because  it  is  safer  away  from 
clumsy  learners,  and  where  wre  are  the  ice  is  safe.  I 
was  over  it  yesterday,  but  do  not  go  far.  I  shall  be 
back  in  a  few  minutes.  If  Margaret  is  tired,  move 
up  the  river.  I  shall  find  you. ' ' 

' '  Please  not  to  be  long, ' '  said  Margaret. 

"Make  him  tell  you  when  your  wicked  Delaware 
was  not  my  friend,  and  another  was.  Make  him  tell. ' ' 

As  he  spoke,  he  was  away  behind  young  Mr.  Mor 
ris,  singing  in  his  lusty  bass  snatches  of  German 
song  and  thinking  of  the  ripe  mischief  of  the  trap 
he  had  baited  with  a  nice  little  Cupid.  "I  want  it 
to  come  soon,"  he  said,  "before  I  go.  She  will  be 


THE  KED  CITY  321 

curious  and  venture  in,  and  it  will  be  as  good  as 
the  apple  with  knowledge  of  good  and— no,  there 
is  evil  in  neither. ' ' 

She  was  uneasy,  she  scarce  knew  why.  Still  at 
rest  on  the  ice,  .she  turned  to  De  Courval.  ' '  Thou 
wilt  tell  me  ? "  she  said. 

"I  had  rather  not." 

"Bntiflaaktheef" 

"Why  should  I  not?"  he  thought.  It  was  against 
his  habit  to  speak  of  himself,  but  she  would  perhaps 
like  him  the  better  for  the  story. 

"Then,  Miss  Margaret,  not  because  he  asked  and 
is  willing,  but  because  you  ask,  I  shall  tell  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  knew  thou  wouldst.  He  thought  thou 
wouldst  not  and  I  should  be  left  puzzled.  Some 
times  he  is  just  like  a  boy  for  mischief. ' ' 

"Oh,  it  was  nothing.  The  first  day  I  was  here  I 
saved  him  from  drowning.  A  boat  struck  his  head 
while  we  were  swimming,  and  I  had  the  luck  to  be 
near.  There,  that  is  all."  He  was  a  trifle  ashamed 
to  tell  of  it. 

She  put  out  her  hand  as  they  stood.  * ;  Thank  thee. 
Twice  I  thank  thee,  for  a  dear  life  saved  and  be 
cause  thou  didst  tell,  not  liking  to  tell  me.  I  could 
see  that.  Thank  thee." 

"Ah,  Pearl,"  he  exclaimed,  and  what  more  he 
would  have  said  I  do  not  know,  nor  had  he  a  chance, 
for  she  cried :  "  I  shall  thank  thee  always,  Friend  de 
Courval.  We  are  losing  time."  The  peril  that 
gives  a  keener  joy  to  sport  was  for  a  time  far  too 
near,  but  in  other  form  than  in  bodily  risk.  ' t  Come, 
canst  thou  catch  me?"  She  was  off  and  away,  now 


322  THE  KED  CITY 

near,  now  far,  circling  about  him  with  easy  grac£, 
merrily  laughing  as  he  sped  after  her  in  vain.  Then 
of  a  sudden  she  cried  out  and  came  to  a  standstill. 

' '  A  strap  broke,  and  I  have  turned  my  ankle.  Oh, 
I  cannot  move  a  step !  What  shall  I  do  ? " 

' '  Sit  down  on  the  ice. ' ' 

As  she  sat,  he  undid  her  skates  and  then  his  own 
and  tied  them  to  his  belt.  "Can  you  walk?"  he 
said. 

' '  I  will  try.  Ah ! "  She  was  in  pain.  ' '  Call  Mr. 
Schmidt,'7  she  said.  "Call  him  at  once." 

"  I  do  not  see  him.  We  were  to  meet  him  opposite 
the  Swedes'  church." 

"Then  go  and  find  him." 

' '  What,  leave  you  ?    Not  I.    Let  me  carry  you. ' ' 

'  *  Oh,  no,  no ;  thou  must  not. ' '  But  in  a  moment 
he  had  the  slight  figure  in  his  arms. 

' '  Let  me  down !  I  will  never,  never  forgive  thee ! ' ' 
But  he  only  said  in  a  voice  of  resolute  command, 
"Keep  still,  Pearl,  or  I  shall  fall."  She  was  silent. 
Did  she  like  it,  the  strong  arms  about  her,  the  head 
on  his  shoulder,  the  heart  throbbing  as  never  before  ? 
He  spoke  no  more,  but  moved  carefully  on. 

They  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  when  he 
heard  Schmidt  calling.  At  once  he  set  her  down, 
saying,  "Am  I  forgiven?" 

"No— yes,"  she  said  faintly. 

"Pearl,  dear  Pearl,  I  love  you.  I  meant  not  to 
speak,  oh,  for  a  time,  but  it  has  been  too  much  for 
me.  Say  just  a  word."  But  she  was  silent  as 
Schmidt  stopped  beside  them  and  Rene  in  a  few 
words  explained. 


THE  BED  CITY  323 

"Was  it  here?"  asked  Schmidt. 

"No;  a  little  while  ago." 

'  *  But  how  did  you  come  so  far,  my  poor  child  * ' ' 

' '  Oh,  I  managed, ' '  she  said. 

1 '  Indeed.    I  shall  carry  you. ' ' 

"If  thou  wilt,  please.    I  am  in  much  pain." 

He  took  off  his  skates,  and  with  easy  strength 
walked  away  over  the  ice,  the  girl  in  his  arms,  so 
that  before  long  she  was  at  home  and  in  her  mother 's 
care,  to  be  at  rest  for  some  days. 

"Come  in,  Rene,"  said  Schmidt,  as  later  they 
settled  themselves  for  the  usual  smoke  and  chat. 
The  German  said  presently:  "It  was  not  a  very 
bad  sprain.  Did  you  carry  her,  Rene  ? ' ' 

<  t  T ?  > 

"Yes.    Do  you  think,  man,  that  I  cannot  see?" 

"Yes,  I  carried  her.    What  else  could  I  do?" 

"Humph!  What  else?  Nothing.  Was  she 
heavy,  Herr  de  Courval?" 

"Please  not  to  tease  me,  sir.  You  must  know 
that,  God  willing,  I  shall  marry  her. ' ' 

"Will  you,  indeed?  And  your  mother,  Rene,  will 
she  like  it?" 

"No ;  but  soon  or  late  she  will  have  to  like  it.  For 
her  I  am  still  a  child,  but  now  I  shall  go  my  way. ' ' 

"And  Pearl?" 

"I  mean  to  know,  to  hear.  I  can  wait  no  longer. 
Would  it  please  you,  sir  ? " 

"Mightily,  my  son;  and  when  it  comes  to  the 
mother,  I  must  say  a  word  or  two. ' ' 

'  *  She  will  not  like  that.  She  likes  no  one  to  come 
between  us. ' ' 


324  THE  RED  CITY 

"Well,  we  shall  see.  I  should  be  more  easy  if  only 
that  Jacobin  hound  were  dead,  or  past  barking.  He 
is  in  a  bad  way,  I  hear.  I  could  have  wished  that 
you  had  been  of  a  mind  to  have  waited  a  little  longer 
before  you  spoke  to  her. ' ' 

Rene  smiled.  "Why  did  you  leave  us  alone  to 
night?  It  is  you,  sir,  who  are  responsible. " 

"Potstausend!  Donnerwetter!  You  saucy  boy! 
Go  to  bed  and  repent.  There  are  only  two  languages 
in  which  a  man  can  find  good,  fat,  mouth-filling 
oaths,  and  the  English  oaths  are  too  naughty  for  a 
good  Quaker  house. ' ' 

1 '  You  seem  to  have  found  one,  sir.  It  sounds  like 
thunder.  We  can  do  it  pretty  well  in  French." 

"Child's  talk,  prattle.  Go  to  bed.  What  will  the 
mother  say?  Oh,  not  yours.  Madame  Swanwick 
has  her  own  share  of  pride.  Can't  you  wait  a 
while?" 

"No.    I  must  know." 

"Well,  Mr.  Obstinate  Man,  we  shall  see."  The 
wisdom  of  waiting  he  saw,  and  yet  he  had  deliber 
ately  been  false  to  the  advice  he  had  more  than  once 
given.  Rene  left  him,  and  Schmidt  turned,  as  he 
loved  to  do,  to  the  counselor  Montaigne,  just  now  his 
busy-minded  comrade,  and,  lighting  upon  the  chap 
ter  on  reading,  saw  what  pleased  him. 

"That  is  good  advice,  in  life  and  for  books.  To 
have  a  'skipping  wit.'  We  must  skip  a  little  time. 
I  was  foolish.  How  many  threads  there  are  in  this 
tangle  men  call  life!"  And  with  this  he  read  over 
the  letters  just  come  that  morning  from  Germany. 
Then  he  considered  Carteaux  again. 


THE  EED  CITY  325 

"If  that  fellow  is  tormented  into  taking  his  re 
venge,  and  I  should  be  away,  as  I  may  be,  there  will 
be  the  deuce  to  pay. 

"Perhaps  I  might  have  given  Rene  wiser  advice; 
but  with  no  proof  concerning  the  fate  of  the  des 
patch,  there  was  no  course  which  was  entirely  satis 
factory.  Best  to  let  the  sleeping  dog  lie.  But  why 
did  I  leave  them  on  the  ice?  Sapristi!  I  am  as  bad 
as  Mistress  Gainor.  But  she  is  not  caught  yet, 
Master  Rene." 


XXIII 

IN  a  few  days  Margaret  was  able  to  be  afoot,  al 
though  still  lame ;  but  Rene  had  no  chance  to  see 
her.  She  was  not  to  be  caught  alone,  and  would  go 
on  a  long-promised  visit  to  Merion.  Thus  February 
passed,  and  March,  and  April  came,  when  personal 
and  political  matters  abruptly  broke  up  for  a  time 
their  peaceful  household. 

Margaret  had  been  long  at  home  again,  but  still 
with  a  woman's  wit  she  avoided  her  lover.  Aunt 
Gainor,  ever  busy,  came  and  went,  always  with  a 
dozen  things  to  do. 

Her  attentions  to  Madame  de  Courval  lessened 
when  that  lady  no  longer  needed  her  kindness  and, 
as  soon  happened,  ceased  to  be  interesting.  She 
would  not  gamble,  and  the  two  women  had  little  in 
common.  Miss  Gainer's  regard  for  Rene  was  more 
lasting.  He  was  well-built  and  handsome,  and  all 
her  life  she  had  had  a  fancy  for  good  looks  in  men. 
He  had,  too,  the  virile  qualities  she  liked  and  a  cer 
tain  steadiness  of  purpose  which  took  small  account 
of  obstacles  and  reminded  her  of  her  nephew  Hugh 
Wynne.  Above  all,  he  had  been  successful,  and  she 
despised  people  who  failed  and  too  often  regarded 
success  as  a  proof  of  the  right  to  succeed,  even  when 
the  means  employed  were  less  creditable  than  those 

326 


THE  RED  CITY  327 

by  which  Rene  had  made  his  way.  Moreover,  had  he 
not  told  her  once  that  her  French  was  wonderful? 
Miss  Gainor  changed  her  favorites  often,  but  Rene 
kept  in  her  good  graces  and  was  blamed  only  be 
cause  he  did  not  give  her  as  much  of  his  time  as  she 
desired;  for  after  she  heard  his  history  from 
Schmidt,  he  won  a  place  in  her  esteem  which  few 
men  had  ever  held.  She  had  set  her  heart  at  last  on 
his  winning  Margaret,  and  the  lifelong  game  of 
gambling  with  other  folks'  fortunes  and  an  honest 
idolatry  for  the  heroic,  inclined  her  to  forgive  a  lack 
of  attention  due  in  a  measure  to  his  increasing  occu 
pations. 

To  keep  her  eager  hands  off  this  promising  bit  of 
match-making  had  been  rather  a  trial,  but  Schmidt 
was  one  of  the  few  people  of  whom  she  had  any  fear, 
and  she  had  promised  not  to  meddle.  At  present  she 
had  begun  to  think  that  the  two  human  pawns  in 
the  game  she  loved  were  becoming  indifferent,  and 
to  let  things  alone  was  something  to  which  she  had 
never  been  inclined.  Had  she  become  aware  of  the 
German's  mild  treachery  that  night  on  the  ice,  she 
would  in  all  likelihood  have  been  angry  at  first  and 
then  pleased  or  annoyed  not  to  have  had  a  hand  in 
the  matter. 

Mistress  Wynne,  even  in  the  great  war,  rarely  al 
lowed  her  violent  politics  to  interfere  with  piquet, 
and  now  Mr.  Dallas  had  asked  leave  to  bring  Fau- 
chet,  the  new  French  minister,  to  call  upon  her.  He 
was  gay,  amusing,  talked  no  politics,  played  piquet 
nearly  as  well  as  she,  and  was  enchanted,  as  he 
assured  her,  to  hear  French  spoken  without  accent. 


328  THE  KED  CITY 

If  to  De  la  Foret,  the  consul-general,  he  made  merry 
concerning  his  travels  in  China,  as  he  called  her 
drawing-room,  saying  it  was  perilously  over-popu 
lous  with  strange  gods,  she  did  not  hear  it,  nor  would 
she  have  cared  so  long  as  she  won  the  money  of  the 
French  republic. 

One  evening  in  early  April,  after  a  long  series  of 
games,  he  said:  "I  wish  I  could  have  brought  here 
my  secretary  Carteaux.  He  did  play  to  perfection, 
but  now,  poor  devil,  the  wound  he  received  has 
palsied  his  right  arm,  and  he  will  never  hold  cards 
again— or,  what  he  thinks  worse,  a  foil.  It  was  a 
strange  attack." 

'  *  Does  he  suffer  ?    I  have  heard  about  him. ' ' 

"Horribly.  He  is  soon  going  home  to  see  if  our 
surgeons  can  find  the  bullet;  but  he  is  plainly  fail 
ing." 

"Oh,  he  is  going  home?" 

"Yes;  very  soon." 

' '  How  did  it  all  happen  ?  It  has  been  much  talked 
about,  but  one  never  knows  what  to  believe." 

"I  sent  him  to  New  York  with  despatches  for  our 
foreign  office,  but  the  Jean  Bart  must  have  sailed 
without  them ;  for  he  was  waylaid,  shot,  and  robbed 
of  the  papers,  but  lost  no  valuables. ' ' 

' '  Then  it  was  not  highwaymen  ? ' ' 

"No;  I  can  only  conjecture  who  were  concerned. 
It*  was  plainly  a  robbery  in  the  interest  of  the  Fed 
eralists.  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Randolph  could  have 
these  despatches,  or  if  he  has,  they  will  never  be 
heard  of."  Upon  this  he  smiled. 

"Then  they  are  lost?" 


THE  BED  CITY  329 

"Yes.  At  least  to  our  foreign  office.  I  think  Mr. 
Wolcott  of  the  Treasury  would  have  liked  to  see 
them." 

"But  why?  Why  Mr.  Wolcott?"  She  showed 
her  curiosity  quite  too  plainly. 

"Ah,  that  is  politics,  and  Madame  forbids  them." 

"Yes— usually;  but  this  affair  of  Monsieur  Car- 
teaux  cannot  be  political.  It  seems  to  me  an  incredi 
ble  explanation." 

' '  Certainly  a  most  unfortunate  business, ' '  said  the 
minister. 

He  had  said  too  much  and  was  on  his  guard.  He 
had,  however,  set  the  spinster  to  thinking,  and  re 
membering  what  Schmidt  had  told  her  of  De  Cour- 
val,  her  reflections  were  fertile.  "Shall  we  have 
another  game  ? ' ' 

A  month  before  the  day  on  which  they  played, 
the  Jean  Bart,  since  November  of  1794  at  sea,  after 
seizing  an  English  merchantman  was  overhauled  in 
the  channel  by  the  British  frigate  Cerberus  and 
compelled  to  surrender.  The  captain  threw  over 
board  his  lead-weighted  signal-book  and  the  packet 
of  Fauchet's  despatches.  A  sailor  of  the  merchant 
ship,  seeing  it  float,  jumped  overboard  from  a  boat 
and  rescued  it.  Upon  discovering  its  value,  Captain 
Drew  of  the  Cerberus  forwarded  the  despatches  to 
Lord  Grenville  in  London,  who  in  turn  sent  them 
as  valuable  weapons  to  Mr.  Hammond,  the  English 
minister  in  Philadelphia.  There  was  that  in  them 
which  might  discredit  one  earnest  enemy  of  the 
English  treaty,  but  months  went  by  before  the  papers 
reached  America. 


330  THE  BED  CITY 

Miss  Gainor,  suspecting  her  favorite's  share  in 
this  much-talked-of  affair,  made  haste  to  tell  Schmidt 
of  the  intention  of  Carteaux  to  sail,  to  the  relief  of 
the  German  gentleman,  who  frankly  confided  to  her 
the  whole  story.  He  spoke  also  once  more  of  De 
Courval  and  urged  her  for  every  reason  to  leave  the 
young  people  to  settle  their  own  affairs.  Mean 
while  Josiah  was  in  bed  with  well-earned  gout. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  14th  of  April,  Rene  came 
home  from  the  State  office  and  said  to  Schmidt :  ' '  I 
have  had  paid  me  a  great  compliment,  but  whether 
I  entirely  like  it  or  not,  I  do  not  know.  As  usual,  I 
turn  to  you  for  advice. ' ' 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

' '  The  President  wants  some  one  he  can  trust  to  go 
to  the  western  counties  of  this  State  and  report  on 
the  continued  disturbance  about  the  excise  tax.  I 
thought  the  thing  was  at  an  end.  Mr.  Hamilton, 
who  seems  to  have  the  ear  of  the  President,  advised 
him  that  as  a  thoroughly  neutral  man  I  could  be 
trusted.  Mr.  Randolph  thinks  it  a  needless  errand. ' ' 

"No.  It  is  by  no  means  needless.  I  have  lands 
near  Pittsburg,  as  you  know,  and  I  hear  of  much 
disaffection.  The  old  fox,  Jefferson,  at  Monticello 
talks  about  the  excise  tax  as  'infernal,'  and  what 
with  the  new  treaty  and  Congress  and  other  things 
the  Democrats  are  making  trouble  enough  for  a 
weak  cabinet  and  a  strong  President.  I  advise  you 
to  accept.  You  can  serve  me,  too.  Take  it.  You 
are  fretting  here  for  more  reasons  than  one.  I  hear 
that  Carteaux  is  out  of  bed,  a  crippled  wreck,  and 
Fauchet  says  is  soon  to  go  to  France.  In  August 


THE  EED  CITY  331 

the  minister  himself  will  leave  and  one  Adet  take 
his  place.  I  think  you  may  go  with  an  easy  mind. 
We  are  to  be  rid  of  the  whole  pestilent  lot. ' ' 

"Then  I  shall  accept  and  go  as  soon  as  I  receive 
my  instructions.  But  I  do  dread  to  leave  town. 
I  shall  go,  but  am  at  ease  only  since  you  will  be  here. ' ' 

"But  I  shall  not  be,  Rene.  I  have  hesitated  to  tell 
you.  I  am  called  home  to  Germany,  and  shall  sail 
from  New  York  for  England  on  to-day  a  week.  I 
shall  return,  I  think ;  but  I  am  not  sure,  nor  if  then 
I  can  remain.  It  is  an  imperative  call.  I  am,  it 
seems,  pardoned,  and  my  father  is  urgent,  and  my 
elder  brother  is  dead.  If  you  have  learned  to  know 
me,  you  will  feel  for  me  the  pain  with  which  I  leave 
this  simpler  life  for  one  which  has  never  held  for 
me  any  charm.  Since  Carteaux  is  soon  to  sail,  and 
I  hear  it  is  certain,  I  feel  less  troubled.  I  hope  to  be 
here  again  in  August  or  later.  You  may,  I  think, 
count  on  my  return. ' ' 

' '  Have  you  told  Mrs.  Swanwick,  sir  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  and  the  Pearl.  Ah,  my  son,  the  one  thing 
in  life  I  have  craved  is  affection ;  and  now—  " 

"No  one  will  miss  you  as  I  shall— no  one—  "  He 
could  say  no  more. 

"You  will  of  course  have  charge  of  my  affairs, 
and  Mr.  Wilson  has  my  power  of  attorney,  and  there 
is  Hamilton  at  need.  Ah,  but  I  have  had  a  scene 
with  these  most  dear  people ! ' ' 

The  time  passed  quickly  for  De  Courval.  He  him 
self  was  to  be  gone  at  least  two  months.  There  was 
a  week  to  go,  as  he  must,  on  horseback,  and  as  much 
to  return.  There  were  wide  spaces  of  country  to 


332  THE  EED  CITY 

cover  and  much  business  to  settle  for  Schmidt.  His 
stay  was  uncertain  and  not  without  risks. 

Over  three  weeks  went  by  before  he  could  be 
spared  from  the  thinly  officered  department. 
Schmidt  had  long  since  gone,  and  Rene  sat  alone  in 
the  library  at  night  and  missed  the  large  mind  and 
a  temperament  gayer  than  his  own.  His  mother 
had  asked  no  questions  concerning  Carteaux,  and  as 
long  as  there  was  doubt  in  regard  to  his  course,  he 
had  been  unwilling  to  mention  him ;  but  now  he  felt 
that  he  should  speak  freely  and  set  his  mother 's  mind 
at  rest  before  he  went  away. 

Neither,  despite  what  he  was  sure  would  be  the 
stern  opposition  he  would  have  to  encounter  from 
his  mother,  could  he  go  without  a  word  to  Margaret 
—a  word  that  would  settle  his  fate  and  hers.  The 
Carteaux  business  was  at  an  end.  He  felt  free  to 
act.  Fortune  for  once  favored  him.  Since  he  had 
spoken  to  his  mother  of  his  journey  and  the  lessened 
household  knew  of  it,  Pearl  had  even  more  sedulously 
avoided  the  pleasant  talks  in  the  garden  and  the 
rides,  now  rare,  with  Aunt  Gainor  and  himself. 
The  mother,  more  and  more  uneasy,  had  spoken  to 
her  daughter  very  decidedly,  and  Madame  grew  less 
familiarly  kind  to  the  girl;  while  she  herself,  with 
a  mind  as  yet  in  doubt,  had  also  her  share  of  pride 
and  believed  that  the  young  vicomte  had  ceased  to 
care  for  her,  else  would  he  not  have  created  an  op 
portunity  to  say  what  long  ago  that  night  on  the  ice 
seemed  to  make  a  matter  of  honor?  She  was  puz 
zled  by  his  silence,  a  little  vexed  and  not  quite  sure 
of  herself.  « 


THE  BED  CITY  333 

He  put  off  to  the  last  moment  his  talk  with  his 
mother  and  watched  in  vain  for  a  chance  to 
speak  to  Margaret.  His  instructions  were  ready, 
his  last  visits  made.  He  had  had  an  unforgettable 
half -hour  with  the  President  and  a  talk  with  Ham 
ilton,  now  on  a  visit  from  New  York.  The  ex-secre 
tary  asked  him  why  he  did  not  cast  in  his  lot 
frankly  with  the  new  land,  as  he  himself  had  done. 
He  would  have  to  give  notice  in  court  and  renounce 
his  allegiance  to  his  sovereign,  so  ran  the  new  law. 

"I  have  no  sovereign,"  he  replied,  "and  worth 
less  as  it  now  seems,  I  will  not  renounce  my  title,  as 
your  law  requires. ' ' 

"Nor  would  I,"  said  Hamilton.  "You  will  go 
home  some  day.  The  chaos  in  France  will  find  a 
master.  The  people  are  weary  of  change  and  will 
accept  any  permanent  rule." 

"Yes,  I  hope  to  return.  Such  is  my  intention," 
and  they  fell  into  talk  of  Schmidt. 

De  Courval's  last  day  in  the  city  had  come. 
Schmidt  had  left  him  the  free  use  of  his  horses,  and 
he  would  try  one  lately  bought  to  see  how  it  would 
answer  for  his  long  journey. 

About  eleven  of  a  sunny  June  morning  he  mounted 
and  rode  westward  up  Chestnut  Street.  At  Fifth 
and  Chestnut  streets,  Congress  having  just  ad 
journed,  the  members  were  coming  out  of  the  brick 
building  which  still  stands  at  the  corner.  He  knew 
many,  and  bowed  to  Gallatin  and  Fisher  Ames. 
Mr.  Madison  stopped  him  to  say  a  word  about  the 
distasteful  English  treaty.  Then  at  a  walk  he  rode 
on  toward  the  Schuylkill,  deep  in  thought. 


334  THE  KED  CITY 

Beyond  Seventh  there  was  as  yet  open  country, 
with  few  houses.  It  was  two  years  since,  a  stranger, 
he  had  fallen  among  friends  in  the  Red  City,  made 
for  himself  a  sufficient  income  and  an  honorable 
name  and  won  the  esteem  of  men.  Schmidt,  Mar 
garet,  the  Wynnes;  his  encounters  with  Carteaux, 
the  yellow  plague,  passed  through  his  mind.  God 
had  indeed  dealt  kindly  with  the  exiles.  As  he  came 
near  to  the  river  and  rode  into  the  thinned  forest 
known  as  the  Governor's  Woods,  he  saw  Nanny 
seated  at  the  roadside. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Nanny1?"  he  asked. 

"The  missus  sent  me  with  Miss  Margaret  to  carry 
a  basket  of  stuff  to  help  some  no-account  colored  peo 
ple  lives  up  that  road.  I  has  to  wait." 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  and,  dismounting,  tied  his 
horse.  "At  last,"  he  said,  and  went  away  up  the 
wood  road.  Far  in  the  open  forest  he  saw  her  com 
ing,  her  Quaker  bonnet  swinging  on  her  arm. 

"Oh,  Miss  Margaret!"  he  cried.  "I  am  glad  to 
have  found  you.  You  know  I  am  going  away  to 
morrow  for  two  months  at  least.  It  is  a  hard  jour 
ney,  not  without  some  risk,  and  I  cannot  go  without 
a  word  with  you.  Why  have  you  avoided  me  as  you 
have  done  ? ' ' 

"Have  I?"  she  replied. 

' '  Yes ;  and  you  know  it. ' ' 

"I  thought— I  thought— oh,  let  me  go  home!" 

"No;  not  till  you  hear  me.  Can  you  let  me  leave 
in  this  way  without  a  word  ?  I  do  not  mean  that  it 
shall  be.  Sit  down  here  on  this  log  and  listen  to 
me."  He  caught  her  hand. 


THE  BED  CITY  335 

"Please,  I  must  go." 

"No;  not  yet.  Sit  down  here.  I  shall  not  keep 
you  long— a  woman  who  wants  none  of  me.  But  I 
have  much  to  say— explanations,  ah,  much  to  say." 
She  sat  down. 

"I  will  hear  thee,  but—" 

"Oh,  you  will  hear  me?  Yes,  because  you  must? 
Go,  if  you  will.  It  will  be  my  answer. ' ' 

"I  think  the  time  and  the  place  ill  chosen,"— 
she  spoke  with  simple  dignity, — "but  I  will  hear 
thee." 

*  *  I  have  had  no  chance  but  this.  You  must  pardon 
me."  She  looked  down  and  listened.  "It  is  a  sim 
ple  matter.  I  have  loved  you  long.  No  other  love 
has  ever  troubled  my  life.  Save  my  mother.  I  have 
no  one.  What  might  have  been  the  loves  for  brothers 
and  sisters  are  all  yours,  a  love  beyond  all  other 
loves,  the  love  of  a  lonely  man.  Whether  or  not  you 
permit  me  to  be  something  more,  I  shall  still  owe  you 
a  debt  the  years  can  never  make  me  forget — the  re 
membrance  of  what  my  life  beside  you  in  your  home 
has  given  me." 

The  intent  face,  the  hands  clasped  in  her  lap, 
might  have  shown  him  how  deeply  she  was  moved; 
for  now  at  last  that  she  had  heard  him  she  knew 
surely  that  she  loved  him.  The  long  discipline  of 
Friends  in  controlling  at  least  the  outward  expres 
sion  of  emotion  came  to  her  aid  as  often  before.  She 
felt  how  easy  it  would  have  been  to  give  him  the 
answer  he  longed  for ;  but  there  were  others  to  think 
about,  and  from  her  childhood  she  had  been  taught 
the  lesson  of  consideration  for  her  elders.  She  set 


336  THE  BED  CITY 

herself  to  reply  to  him  with  stern  repression  of  feel 
ing  not  very  readily  governed. 

"How  can  I  answer  thee?  What  would  thy 
mother  say  ? ' '  He  knew  then  what  her  answer  might 
have  been.  She,  too,  had  her  pride,  and  he  liked  her 
the  more  for  that. 

"Thou  art  a  French  noble.  I  am  a  plain  Quaker 
girl  without  means.  There  would  be  reason  in  the 
opposition  thy  mother  would  make. ' ' 

"A  French  noble!"  he  laughed.  "A  banished 
exile,  landless  and  poor— a  pretty  match  I  am.  But, 
Pearl,  the  future  is  mine.  I  have  succeeded  here, 
where  my  countrymen  starve.  I  have  won  honor, 
respect,  and  trust.  I  would  add  love. ' ' 

' '  I  know,  I  know ;  but— ' ' 

"It  is  vain  to  put  me  off  with  talk  of  others.  I 
think  you  do  care  for  me.  My  mother  will  sum 
mon  all  her  prejudices  and  in  the  end  will  yield. 
It  is  very  simple,  Pearl.  I  ask  only  a  word.  If  you 
say  yes,  whatever  may  then  come,  we  will  meet  with 
courage  and  respect.  Do  you  love  me,  Pearl  ? ' ' 

She  said  faintly,  "Yes." 

He  sat  silent  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "I  thank 
God ! ' '  and,  lifting  her  hand,  kissed  it. 

"Oh,  Rene,"  she  cried,  "what  have  I  done!"  and 
she  burst  into  tears.  * '  I  did  not  mean  to. ' ' 

"  Is  it  so  hard,  dear  Pearl  ?    I  have  made  you  cry. ' ' 

"No,  it  is  not  hard;  but  it  is  that  I  am  ashamed 
to  think  that  I  loved  thee  long— long  before  thou 
didst  care  for  me.  Love  thee,  Rene!  Thou  dost 
not  dream  how — how  I  love  thee." 

Her  reticence,  her  trained  reserve,  were  lost  in  this 


T  know,  T  know,  but—" 


THE  EED  CITY  339 

passion  of  long-restrained  love.  Ah,  here  was 
Schmidt 's  Quaker  Juliet ! 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  wet  cheek. 
"You  will  never,  never  regret,"  he  said.  "All  else 
is  of  no  moment.  We  love  each  other.  That  is  all 
now.  I  have  so  far  never  failed  in  anything,  and  I 
shall  not  now. ' ' 

He  had  waited  long,  he  said,  and  for  good  reasons. 
Some  day,  but  not  now  in  an  hour  of  joy,  he  would 
tell  her  the  story  of  his  life,  a  sad  one,  and  of  why 
he  had  been  what  men  call  brutal  to  Carteaux  and 
why  their  friend  Schmidt,  who  knew  of  his  love,  had 
urged  him  to  wait.  She  must  trust  him  yet  a  little 
while  longer. 

1 '  And  have  I  not  trusted  thee  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  Pearl." 

* '  We  knew,  mother  and  I,  knowing  thee  as  we  did, 
that  there  must  be  more  cause  for  that  dreadful  duel 
than  we  could  see. ' ' 

' l  More  1  Yes,  dear,  and  more  beyond  it ;  but  it  is 
all  over  now.  The  man  I  would  have  killed  is  going 
to  France. ' ' 

"Oh,  Rene-killed!" 

"Yes,  and  gladly.  The  man  goes  back  to  France 
and  my  skies  are  clear  for  love  to  grow. ' ' 

He  would  kill !  A  strange  sense  of  surprise  arose 
in  her  mind,  and  the  thought  of  how  little  even  now 
she  knew  of  the  man  she  loved  and  trusted.  "I  can 
wait,  Rene,"  she  said,  "and  oh,  I  am  so  glad;  but 
mother— I  have  never  had  a  secret  from  her,  never." 

"Tell  her,"  he  said;  "but  then  let  it  rest  between 
iis  until  I  come  back. ' ' 


340  THE  BED  CITY 

' '  That  would  be  best,  and  now  I  must  go. ' ' 
"Yes,  but  a  moment,  Pearl.  Long  ago,  the  day 
after  we  landed,  a  sad  and  friendless  man,  I  walked 
out  to  the  river  and  washed  away  my  cares  in  the 
blessed  waters.  On  my  return,  I  sat  on  this  very  log, 
and  talked  to  some  woodmen,  and  asked  the  name  of 
a  modest  flower.  They  said,  'We  call  it  the  Quaker 
lady.'  And  to  think  that  just  here  I  should  find 
again,  my  Quaker  lady. ' ' 

"But  I  am  not  a  Quaker  lady.  I  am  a  naughty 
'Separatist,'  as  Friends  call  it.  Come,  I  must  go, 
Rene.  I  shall  say  good-by  to  thee  to-night.  Thou 
wilt  be  off  early,  I  do  suppose.  And  oh,  it  will  be  a 
weary  time  while  thou  art  away ! ' ' 

' '  I  shall  be  gone  by  six  in  the  morning. ' ' 
"And  I  sound  asleep,"  she  returned,  smiling.    He 
left  her  at  the  roadside  with  Nanny,  and,  mounting, 
rode  away. 


XXIV 

FTIHE  widow  allowed  no  one  to  care  for  Schmidt's 
i  library  except  her  daughter  or  herself.  It  con 
tained  little  of  value  except  books,  but  even  those 
Indian  arrow-heads  he  found  on  Tinicum  Island  and 
the  strange  bones  from  near  Valley  Forge  were 
dusted  with  care  and  regarded  with  the  more  curi 
osity  because,  even  to  the  German,  they  spoke  no 
language  the  world  as  yet  could  read. 

As  she  turned  from  her  task  and  Margaret  en 
tered,  she  saw  in  her  face  the  signal  of  something  to 
be  told.  It  needed  not  the  words,  * '  Oh,  mother, ' '  as 
she  closed  the  door  behind  her — "oh,  mother,  I  am 
afraid  I  have  done  a  wrong  thing;  but  I  met  Rene 
de  Courval,— I  mean,  he  met  me,— and— and  he 
asked  me  to  marry  him— and  I  will;  no  one  shall 
stop  me. ' '  There  was  a  note  of  anticipative  defiance 
in  the  young  voice  as  she  spoke. 

"Sit  down,  dear  child." 

The  girl  sunk  on  a  cushion  at  her  feet,  her  head  in 
the  mother's  lap.  "I  could  not  help  it,"  she  mur 
mured,  sobbing. 

"I  saw  this  would  come  to  thee,  long  ago,"  said 
the  mother.  "I  had  hoped  thou  wouldst  be  so 
guided  as  not  to  let  thy  heart  get  the  better  of  thy 
head." 

"It  is  my  head  has  got  me  into  this— this  sweet 

341 


342  THE  RED  CITY 

trouble.  Thou  knowest  that  I  have  had  others,  and 
some  who  had  thy  favor;  but,  mother,  here  for  two 
years  I  have  lived  day  by  day  in  the  house  with  Rene, 
and  have  seen  him  so  living  as  to  win  esteem  and 
honor,  a  tender  son  to  his  mother,  and  so  respectful  to 
thee,  who,  for  her,  art  only  the  keeper  of  a  boarding- 
house.  Thou  knowest  what  Friend  Schmidt  says  of 
him.  I  heard  him  tell  Friend  Hamilton.  He  said 
— he  said  he  was  a  gallant  gentleman,  and  he  wished 
he  were  his  son.  You  see,  mother,  it  was  first  respect 
and  then— love.  Oh,  mother,  that  duel !  I  knew  as 
I  saw  him  carried  in  that  I  loved  him."  She  spoke 
rapidly,  with  little  breaks  in  her  voice,  and  now  was 
silent. 

"It  is  bad,  very  bad,  my  child.  I  see  no  end  of 
trouble— oh,  it  is  bad,  bad,  for  thee  and  for  him !" 

"It  is  good,  good,  mother,  for  me  and  for  him. 
He  has  waited  long.  There  has  been  something,  I 
do  not  know  what,  kept  him  from  speaking  sooner. 
It  is  over  now." 

"I  do  not  see  what  there  could  have  been,  unless 
it  were  his  mother.  It  may  well  be  that.  Does  she 
know?" 

1  i  When  he  comes  back  he  will  tell  her. ' ' 

1 1 1  do  not  like  it,  and  I  dislike  needless  mysteries. 
From  a  worldly  point  of  view,— and  I  at  least,  who 
have  drunk  deep  of  poverty,  must  somewhat  think 
for  thee.  Here  are  two  people  without  competent 
means— 

"But  I  love  him." 

"And  his  mother?" 

• '  But  I  love  him. ' '    She  had  no  other  logic.    ' '  Oh, 


THE  BED  CITY  343 

I  wish  Mr.  Schmidt  were  here!  Rene  says  he  will 
like  it." 

"That,  at  least,  is  a  good  thing."  Both  were  si 
lent  a  little  while.  Mrs.  Swanwick  had  been  long 
used  to  defer  to  the  German's  opinions,  hut  looking 
far  past  love's  limited  horizon,  the  widow  thought  of 
the  certain  anger  of  the  mother,  of  the  trap  she  in 
her  pride  would  think  set  for  her  son  by  designing 
people,  her  prejudices  intensified  by  the  mere  fact 
of  the  poverty  which  left  her  nothing  but  exagger 
ated  estimates  of  her  son  and  what  he  was  entitled  to 
demand  of  the  woman  he  should  some  day  marry. 
And  too,  Rene  had  often  spoken  of  a  return  to 
France.  She  said  at  last :  "We  will  leave  the  matter 
now,  and  speak  of  it  to  no  one ;  but  I  should  say  to 
thee,  my  dear,  that  apart  from  what  for  thy  sake  I 
should  consider,  and  the  one  sad  thing  of  his  willing 
ness  to  avenge  a  hasty  word  by  possibly  killing 
a  fellow-man,— how  terrible!— apart  from  these 
things,  there  is  no  one  I  had  been  more  willing  to 
give  thee  to  than  Rene  de  Courval." 

"Thank  thee,  mother."  The  evil  hour  when  the 
vicomtesse  must  hear  was  at  least  remote,  and  some 
thing  akin  to  anger  rose  in  the  widow's  mind  as  she 
thought  of  it. 

Rene  came  in  to  supper.  Mrs.  Swanwick  was  as 
usual  quiet,  asking  questions  in  regard  to  Margaret 's 
errand  of  charity,  but  of  a  mind  to  win  time  for  re 
flection,  and  unwilling  as  yet  to  open  the  subject 
with  Rene. 

When,  late  in  the  evening,  he  came  out  of  the  study 
where  he  had  been  busy  with  the  instructions  left  by 


344  THE  BED  CITY 

Schmidt,  he  was  annoyed  to  learn  that  Margaret  had 
gone  up-stairs.  There  was  still  before  him  the  task 
of  speaking  to  his  mother  of  what  he  was  sure  was 
often  in  her  mind,  Carteaux.  She  had  learned  from 
the  gossip  of  guests  that  a  Frenchman  had  been  set 
upon  near  Bristol  and  had  been  robbed  and 
wounded.  Incurious  and  self -centered,  the  affairs  of 
the  outer  world  had  for  her  but  little  real  interest. 
Now  she  must  have  her  mind  set  at  ease,  for  Rene 
well  knew  that  she  had  not  expected  him  to  rest  con 
tented  or  to  be  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  un 
fortunate  duel.  Her  puritan  creed  was  powerless 
here  as  against  her  social  training,  and  her  sense  of 
what  so  hideous  a  wrong  as  her  husband's  murder 
should  exact  from  his  son. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,  maman,"  he  said; 
1 1  and  before  I  go,  it  is  well  that  I  should  tell  you. ' ' 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  said  coldly,  and  then,  as 
before,  uneasily  anxious. 

' '  On  the  twenty-ninth  of  November  I  learned  that 
Carteaux  had  started  for  New  York  an  hour  before  I 
heard  of  it,  on  his  way  to  France.  I  had  waited  long 
—undecided,  fearing  that  again  some  evil  chance 
might  leave  you  alone  in  a  strange  land. ' ' 

"You  did  wrong,  Rene.  There  are  duties  which 
ought  to  permit  of  no  such  indecision.  You  should 
not  have  considered  me  for  a  moment.  Go  on." 

"How  could  I  help  it,  thinking  of  you,  mother? 
I  followed,  and  overtook  this  man  near  Bristol.  I 
meant  no  chance  with  the  sword  this  time.  He  was 
unarmed.  I  gave  him  the  choice  of  my  pistols,  bade 
him  pace  the  distance,  and  give  the  word.  He 


THE  EED  CITY  345 

walked  away  some  six  feet,  half  the  distance,  and, 
turning  suddenly,  fired,  grazing  my  shoulder.  I  shot 
him— ah,  a  terrible  wound  in  arm  and  shoulder. 
Schmidt  had  found  a  note  I  left  for  him,  and,  miss 
ing  his  pistols,  inquired  at  the  French  legation,  and 
came  up  in  time  to  see  it  all  and  to  prevent  me  from 
killing  the  man." 

"Pre— vent  you!    How  did  he  dare!" 

"Yes,  mother;  and  it  was  well.  Schmidt  found, 
when  binding  up  his  wound,  that  he  was  carrying 
despatches  from  the  Republican  Minister  Fauchet  to 
go  by  the  corvette  Jean  Bart,  waiting  in  New  York 
Harbor. 

"What  difference  did  that  make?" 

"Why,  mother,  I  am  in  the  State  Department. 
To  have  killed  a  member  of  the  French  legation,  or 
stopped  his  journey,  w^ould  have  been  ruin  to  me  and 
a  weapon  in  the  hands  of  these  mock  Jacobins. ' ' 

"But  you  did  stop  him." 

' '  Yes ;  but  I  delivered  the  despatch  myself  to  the 
corvette. ' ' 

"Yes,  you  were  right;  but  what  next?  He  must 
have  spoken." 

"No.  The  threat  from  Schmidt  that  he  would 
tell  the  whole  story  of  Avignon  and  his  treachery  to 
me  has  made  him  lie  and  say  he  had  been  set  upon 
by  unknown  persons  and  robbed  of  his  papers.  He 
has  wisely  held  his  tongue.  He  is  crippled  for  life 
and  has  suffered  horribly.  Now  he  goes  to  France  a 
broken,  miserable  man,  punished  as  death 's  release 
could  not  punish." 

"I  do  not  know  that.     I  have  faith  in  the  ven- 


346  THE  BED  CITY 

geance  of  God.  You  should  have  killed  him.  You 
did  not.  And  so  I  suppose  there  is  an  end  of  it  for 
a  time.  Is  that  all,  Rene  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  that  is  all.  The  loss  of  the  despatch  re 
mains  a  mystery,  and  the  Democrats  are  foolish 
enough  to  believe  we  have  it  in  the  foreign  office. 
No  one  of  them  but  Carteaux  knows  and  he  dare  not 
speak.  The  despatch  will  never  come  back  here,  or 
if  it  does,  Carteaux  will  have  gone.  People  have 
ceased  to  talk  about  it,  and  now,  mother,  I  am  going 
away  with  an  easy  mind.  Do  not  worry  over  this 
matter.  Good  night." 

"Worry?"  she  cried.  "Ah,  I  would  have  killed 
the  Jacobin  dog!" 

' '  I  meant  to, ' '  he  said,  and  left  her. 

At  dawn  he  was  up  and  had  his  breakfast  and 
there  was  Pearl  in  the  hall  and  her  hands  on  his  two 
shoulders.  "Kiss  me,"  she  said.  "God  bless  and 
guard  thee,  Rene!" 


XXV 

WHILE  Schmidt  was  far  on  his  homeward  way, 
De  Courval  rode  through  the  German  settle 
ments  of  Pennsylvania  and  into  the  thinly  settled 
Scotch-Irish  clearings  beyond  the  Alleghanies.  a  long 
and  tedious  journey,  with  much  need  to  spare  his 
horse. 

His  letters  to  government  officers  in  the  village  of 
Pittsburg  greatly  aided  him  in  his  more  remote 
rides.  He  settled  some  of  Schmidt's  land  business, 
and  rode  with  a  young  soldier's  interest  over  Brad- 
dock's  fatal  field,  thinking  of  the  great  career  of  the 
youthful  colonel  who  was  one  of  the  few  who  kept 
either  his  head  or  his  scalp  on  that  day  of  disaster. 

He  found  time  also  to  prepare  for  his  superiors  a 
reassuring  report,  and  on  July  18  set  out  on  his  re 
turn.  He  had  heard  nothing  from  his  mother  or 
from  any  one  else.  The  mails  were  irregular  and 
slow,— perhaps  one  a  week,— and  very  often  a  flood 
or  an  overturned  coach  accounted  for  letters  never 
heard  of  again.  There  would  be  much  to  hear  at 
home. 

On  July  Fourth  of  1795,  while  the  bells  were  ring 
ing  in  memory  of  the  nation's  birthday,  Fauchet  sat 
in  his  office  at  Oeller's  Hotel.  He  had  been  recalled 
and  was  for  various  reasons  greatly  troubled.  The 

347 


348  THE  RED  CITY 

reaction  in  France  against  the  Jacobins  had  set  in, 
and  they,  in  turn  were  suffering  from  the  violence  of 
the  returning  royalists  and  the  outbreaks  of  the 
Catholic  peasantry  in  the  south.  Marat's  bust  had 
been  thrown  into  the  gutter  and  the  Jacobin  clubs 
closed.  The  minister  had  been  able  to  do  nothing  of 
value  to  stop  the  Jay  treaty.  The  despatch  on  which 
he  had  relied  to  give  such  information  as  might  en 
able  his  superiors  to  direct  him  and  assure  them  of 
his  efforts  to  stop  the  treaty  had  disappeared  eight 
months  ago,  as  he  believed  by  a  bold  robbery  in  the 
interest  of  the  English  party,  possibly  favored  by 
the  cabinet,  which,  as  he  had  to  confess,  was  less 
likely.  He  was  angry  as  he  thought  of  it  and  uneasy 
as  concerned  his  future  in  distracted  France.  He 
had  questioned  Carteaux  again  and  again  but  had 
never  been  quite  satisfied.  The  theft  of  the  despatch 
had  for  a  time  served  his  purpose,  but  had  been  of 
no  practical  value.  The  treaty  with  England  would 
go  to  the  senate  and  he  return  home,  a  discredited 
diplomatic  failure.  Meanwhile,  in  the  trying  heat  of 
summer,  as  during  all  the  long  winter  months,  Car 
teaux  lay  for  the  most  part  abed,  in  such  misery  as 
might  have  moved  to  pity  even  the  man  whose  bullet 
had  punished  him  so  savagely.  At  last  he  was  able 
to  sit  up  for  a  time  every  day  and  to  arrange  with 
the  captain  of  a  French  frigate,  then  in  port,  for  his 
return  to  France. 

Late  in  June  he  had  dismissed  Chovet  with  only 
a  promise  to  pay  what  was  in  fact  hard-earned 
money.  Dr.  Glentworth,  Washington's  surgeon,  had 
replaced  him,  and  talked  of  an  amputation,  upon 


THE  BED  CITY  349 

which,  cursing  doctors  in  general,  Carteaux  swore 
that  he  would  prefer  to  die. 

Chovet,  who  dosed  his  sick  folk  with  gossip  when 
other  means  failed,  left  with  this  ungrateful  patient 
one  piece  of  news  which  excited  Carteaux 's  interest. 
Schmidt,  he  was  told,  had  gone  to  Europe,  and  then, 
inaccurate  as  usual,  Chovet  declared  that  it  was  like 
enough  he  would  never  return,  a  fact  which  acquired 
interest  for  the  doctor  himself  as  soon  as  it  became 
improbable  that  Carteaux  would  pay  his  bill.  When 
a  few  days  later  Carteaux  learned  from  De  la  Foret 
that  his  enemy  De  Courval  was  to  be  absent  for  sev 
eral  weeks,  and  perhaps  beyond  the  time  set  for  his 
own  departure,  he  began  with  vengeful  hope  to  re 
consider  a  situation  which  had  so  far  seemed  without 
resource. 

Resolved  at  last  to  make  for  De  Courval  all  the 
mischief  possible  before  his  own  departure,  with 
such  thought  as  his  sad  state  allowed  he  had  slowly 
matured  in  his  mind  a  statement  which  seemed  to 
him  satisfactorily  malignant.  Accordingly  on  this 
Fourth  of  July  he  sent  his  black  servant  to  ask  the 
minister  to  come  to  his  chamber. 

Fauchet,  somewhat  curious,  sat  down  by  the  bed 
side  and  parting  the  chintz  curtains,  said,  "I  trust 
you  are  better." 

The  voice  which  came  from  the  shadowed  space 
within  was  weak  and  hoarse.  "I  am  not  better— I 
never  shall  be,  and  I  have  little  hope  of  reaching 
home  alive." 

*  *  I  hoped  it  not  as  bad  as  that. ' ' 

"And  still  it  is  as  I  say.     I  do  not  want  to  die 


350  THE  BED  CITY 

without  confessing  to  you  the  truth  about  that  af 
fair  in  which  I  was  shot  and  my  despatch  stolen. ' ' 

Men  who  had  lived  through  the  years  of  the 
French  Revolution  were  not  readily  astonished,  but 
at  this  statement  the  Minister  sat  up  and  exclaimed : 
"MonDieu!  What  is  this?" 

"I  am  in  damnable  pain;  I  must  be  brief.  I  was 
waylaid  near  Bristol  by  Schmidt  and  De  Courval, 
and  when  I  wrould  not  stop,  was  shot  by  De  Courval. 
They  stole  the  despatch,  and  made  me  swear  on 
threat  of  death  that  I  had  been  attacked  by  men  I 
did  not  know." 

Fauchet  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  said: 
"That  is  a  singular  story— and  that  you  kept  the 
promise,  still  more  singular." 

"I  did  keep  it.  I  had  good  reason  to  keep  it." 
He  realized,  as  he  told  the  tale,  how  improbable  it 
sounded,  how  entirely  Fauchet  disbelieved  him.  If 
he  had  not  been  dulled  by  opiates  and  racked  past 
power  of  critical  thought,  he  was  far  too  able  a  man 
to  have  put  forth  so  childish  a  tale.  He  knew  at  once 
that  he  was  not  believed. 

"You  do  not  believe  me,  Citizen." 

"  I  do  not.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  the  truth  at 
first?" 

"It  was  not  the  threat  to  kill  me  which  stopped 
me.  I  was  of  the  tribunal  at  Avignon  which  con 
demned  the  ci-devant  vicomte,  the  young  man's 
father.  To  have  had  it  known  here  would  have  been 
a  serious  thing  to  our  party  and  for  me  ruin.  I  was 
ill,  feeble,  in  their  hands,  and  I  promised  Schmidt 
that  I  would  put  it  all  on  some  unknown  person. ' ' 


THE  BED  CITY  351 

Fauchet  listened.  He  entirely  distrusted  him. 
' '  Is  that  all  ?  Do  you  expect  any  reasonable  man  to 
believe  such  a  story?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  If  I  had  told  you  at  the  time,  you 
would  have  used  my  statement  at  once  and  I  should 
have  suffered.  Now  that  both  these  cursed  villains 
are  gone,  I  can  speak. ' ' 

"Indeed,"  said  Fauchet,  very  desirous  of  a  look 
at  the  face  secure  from  observation  within  the  cur 
tained  bed,  "but  why  do  you  speak  now?  It  is  late. 
Why  speak  at  all?" 

"For  revenge,  Monsieur.    I  am  in  hell." 

Fauchet  hesitated.  "That  is  a  good  reason;  but 
there  is  more  in  this  matter  than  you  are  willing  to 
tell." 

' '  That  is  my  business.  I  have  told  you  enough  to 
satisfy  my  purpose  and  yours." 

"Rather  late  for  mine.  But  let  us  understand 
each  other.  This  man,  then,  this  De  Courval,  had  a 
double  motive— to  avenge  his  father's  death  and  to 
serve  his  masters,  the  Federalists.  That  is  your 
opinion  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  his  desire  for  revenge  made  him  an  easy 
tool.  I  cannot  talk  any  more.  What  shall  you  do 
about  it?" 

"I  must  think.  I  do  not  know.  You  are  either  a 
great  fool  or  a  coward  or  both.  I  only  half  trust 

you." 

' '  Ah,  were  I  well,  Monsieur,  no  man  should  talk  to 
me  as  you  are  doing. ' ' 

1  i  Luckily  for  me  you  are  not  well ;  but  will  you 
swear  to  this,  to  a  written  statement  ? ' ' 


352  THE  EED  CITY 

"I  will."  Whether  it  was  to  be  a  truthful  state 
ment  or  not  concerned  the  minister  but  little  if  he 
could  make  use  of  it.  Upon  this,  the  consul-general 
and  a  secretary,  Le  Blanc,  being  called  in,  to  their 
amazement  Carteaux  dictated  a  plain  statement  and 
signed  it  with  his  left  hand,  the  two  officials  acting 
as  witnesses. 

The  minister  read  it  aloud : 

OELLER'S  HOTEL,  July  4,  1795. 

I,  George  Carteaux,  being  in  extremis,  declare  that  on  the 
29th  of  November,  about  5  P.M.,  near  Bristol,  I  was  set 
upon  and  shot  and  a  despatch  taken  from  me  by  one 
Schmidt  and  a  Frenchman  by  name  De  Courval.  No  val 
uables  were  taken.  By  whom  they  were  set  on  or  paid  I 
do  not  know. 

GEORGE  CARTEAUX. 
Witnesses : 
Louis  LE  BLANC, 
JEAN  DE  LA  FORET. 

The  two  members  of  the  legation  silently  followed 
the  minister  out  of  the  room. 

'  *  That  is  a  belated  story, ' '  said  De  la  Foret.  l '  Do 
you  credit  it?" 

"It  is  not  all,  you  may  be  sure;  a  rather  lean 
tale,"  replied  Le  Blanc,  whose  career  in  the  police 
of  Paris  had  taught  him  to  distrust  men.  "He  lied 
both  times,  but  this  time  it  is  a  serviceable  lie." 

"A  little  late,  as  you  say,"  remarked  Fauchet. 
"Once  it  might  have  helped  us." 

"Ah,  if,"  said  the  consul-general,  "he  could  tell 
who  has  your  despatch ! ' ' 

"Not  Mr.  Randolph,"  said  Le  Blanc. 


THE  BED  CITY  353 

"No,"  returned  Fauchet;  "or  if  he  has,  it  will 
never  be  seen  by  any  one  else. ' ' 

"Why?"  asked  Le  Blanc. 

The  minister,  smiling,  shook  his  head.  ' '  If  ever  it 
turns  up  in  other  hands,  you  will  know  why,  and 
Mr.  Randolph,  too." 

The  minister  later  in  the  day  assured  Carteaux 
that  he  would  make  such  use  of  the  deposition  as 
would  force  the  administration  to  rid  itself  of  a 
guilty  clerk.  He  was  in  no  haste  to  fulfil  his  pledge. 
Two  or  three  months  earlier,  when  the  general  oppo 
sition  to  the  English  treaty  promised  to  delay  or 
prevent  it,  this  damaging  paper  would  have  had 
some  value.  Apart,  however,  from  any  small  prac 
tical  utility  the  confession  might  still  possess,  it 
promised  Fauchet  another  form  of  satisfaction.  Be 
ing  a  man  of  great  vanity,  he  felt  injured  and  in 
sulted  by  the  coolness  of  his  diplomatic  reception 
and  by  the  complete  absence  of  pleasant  social  recog 
nition  in  the  homes  of  the  great  Federalist  mer 
chants.  He  would  give  Carteaux 's  statement  to  the 
Secretary  of  State  and  demand  that  De  Courval  be 
dismissed  and  punished.  He  felt  that  he  could  thus 
annoy  and  embarrass  the  administration;  but  still, 
distrusting  Carteaux,  he  waited.  His  delay  was 
ended  by  the  gossip  which  began  to  be  rumored 
about  in  regard  to  the  attack  on  Carteaux,  and  con 
cerning  the  mysterious  loss  of  Despatch  No.  10. 

Chovet  had  been  abruptly  dismissed,  unpaid,  and 
the  German  having  gone  away  in  some  haste  with  no 
thought  of  his  promise  to  pay,  none  knew  when  he 
would  return.  The  little  doctor  was  furious.  His 


354  THE  RED  CITY 

habit  of  imprudent  gossip  had  been  controlled  by 
Schmidt's  threats  and  still  more  surely  by  his 
pledge  of  payment.  By  and  by,  in  his  exasperation, 
he  let  drop  hints,  and  soon  the  matter  grew.  He  had 
been  cheated  by  Carteaux,  and  if  people  only  knew 
the  truth  of  that  story,  and  so  on,  while  he  won  self- 
importance  from  holding  what  he  half  believed  to  be 
a  state  secret. 

At  last,  increasingly  uneasy  about  his  fee,  it  oc 
curred  to  him  to  ask  Miss  Wynne  if  it  were  certain 
that  Schmidt  would  not  return.  If  not— ah,  there 
was  the  young  man  who  must  pay,  or  the  whole  story 
should  be  told. 

That  Miss  Gainor  kept  him  waiting  for  half  an 
hour  he  felt  as  a  slight  and  regarded  it  as  an  addi 
tion  to  the  many  wrongs  he  had  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  a  woman  who  had  learned  from  time  and  experi 
ence  no  lessons  in  prudence. 

Increasingly  vexed  at  her  delay,  when  she  came  in 
he  was  walking  about  with  reckless  disregard  of  the 
priceless  china  with  which  she  delighted  to  crowd 
her  drawing-room.  As  she  entered  he  looked  at  his 
watch,  but  Mistress  Gainor  was  to-day  in  high  good 
humor,  having  won  at  piquet  of  Mrs.  Bingham  the 
night  before  enough  to  make  her  feel  comfortably 
pleased  with  Gainor  Wynne. 

"Bonjour,  Monsieur,"  she  said  in  her  fluent  an 
glicized  French.  "I  beg  pardon  for  keeping  you 
waiting ;  I  was  dressing. ' '  Chovet  had  rarely  been 
able  to  sacrifice  his  liking  to  annoy  to  the  practical 
interests  of  the  moment,  and  now,  disbelieving  her, 
he  said,  ' '  If  you  will  speak  English,  I  may  be  able  to 


THE  BED  CITY  355 

understand  you."  This  was  a  little  worse  than 
usual. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  with  dignity,  "your  manners  are 
bad.  Never  do  I  permit  such  things  to  be  said  to  me. 
I  might  say  something  such  as  you  have  said  to  me 
in  regard  to  your  English  and  there  would  be  an 
end  of  our  conversation,"  upon  which  she  laughed 
outright.  ' '  What  makes  you  so  cross,  Doctor,  and  to 
what  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  a  visit  ? ' ' 

Then  he  broke  out.  ' '  I  have  been  cheated  by  Mr. 
Carteaux.  He  has  not  paid  me  a  cent.  He  has  got 
another  doctor." 

"Wise  man,  Mr.  Carteaux;  but  what  on  earth 
have  I  to  do  with  that  Jacobin?" 

In  his  anger  the  doctor  had  quite  lost  sight  for  the 
moment  of  the  object  of  his  visit,  which  was  to  know 
if  Schmidt  had  gone  never  to  return,  as  was  freely 
reported.  Now  he  remembered. 

* '  I  desire  to  know  if  Mr.  Schmidt  will  come  back. 
He  promised  to  pay  if  Carteaux  did  not.  Oh,  it  is  a 
fine  story— of  him  and  De  Courval.  A  despatch  has 
been  stolen — every  one  knows  that.  I  am  not  to  be 
trifled  with,  Madame.  I  can  tell  a  nice  tale." 

"Can  you,  indeed?  I  advise  you  to  be  careful 
what  you  say.  Mr.  Schmidt  will  return  and  then 
you  will  get  some  unusual  interest  on  your  money. 
Have  you  no  sense  of  honor  that  you  must  talk  as 
you  have  done?" 

"  I  do  never  talk, ' '  he  said,  becoming  uneasy. 

Miss  Gainor  rose,  having  heard  all  she  wished  to 
hear.  "Lord!  man,  talk!  You  do  nothing  else. 
You  have  been  chattering  about  this  matter  to  Mrs. 


356  THE  RED  CITY 

Byrd.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  be  a  bit  afraid.  How 
much  money  is  owing  you  ? ' ' 

"Three  hundred  dollars,  and— I  have  lost  pa 
tients,  too.  I  have—" 

"Sit  down,"  she  said.  "Don't  behave  like  a 
child."  She  went  to  her  desk,  wrote  a  check  and 
gave  it  to  him.  ' '  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  receipt  ? ' ' 
He  gave  it,  surprised  and  pleased.  "And  now  do 
hold  your  tongue  if  you  can,  or  if  Mr.  Schmidt  does 
not  beat  you  when  he  comes  home,  I  will.  You  have 
no  more  decency  than  you  have  hair." 

This  set  him  off  again.  "Ah  you  think  it  is  only 
money,  money.  You,  a  *woman,  can  say  things.  I 
am  insult,"  he  cried.  "I  will  have  revenge  of 
Schmidt,  if  he  do  come.  I  will  have  blood." 

"Blood,  I  would,"  she  said.  "Get  your  lancet 
ready."  She  broke  into  laughter  at  the  idea  of  a 
contest  with  the  German.  "I  will  hear  no  more. 
These  are  my  friends."  When  in  one  of  her  fits  of 
wrath,  now  rare,  she  was  not  choice  of  her  words. 
Both  were  now  standing.  "A  flea  and  a  bear,  you 
and  Schmidt!  Lord,  but  he  will  be  scared— poor 
man!" 

He  too  was  in  a  fine  rage,  such  as  he  never  allowed 
himself  with  men.  "Oh,  I  am  paid,  am  I?  That 
will  not  be  all  of  it."  He  rose  on  tiptoe,  gesticulat 
ing  wildly,  and  threw  his  hands  out,  shaking  them. 
There  was  a  sudden  clatter  of  broken  china. 

"Great  heavens!"  cried  Gainor.  "Two  of  my 
gods  gone,  and  my  blue  mandarin  ! ' ' 

For  a  moment  he  stood  appalled  amid  the  wreck 
of  precious  porcelain,  looking  now  at  Miss  Wynne 
and  now  at  the  broken  deities. 


THE  EED  CITY  357 

The  owner  of  the  gods  towered  over  the  little  doc 
tor.  Wrath  and  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  comic 
contended  for  expression.  ' '  Two  gods,  man !  Where 
now  do  you  expect  to  go  when  you  die—  " 

"Nowhere,"  he  said. 

* '  I  agree  with  you.  Neither  place  would  have  you. 
You  are  not  good  enough  for  one  and  not  bad  enough 
for  the  other."  She  began  to  enjoy  the  situation. 
"I  have  half  a  mind  to  take  away  that  check.  It 
would  not  pay,  but  still—  " 

"I  regret— I  apologize."  He  began  to  fear  lest 
this  terrible  old  woman  might  have  a  whole  mind  in 
regard  to  the  check. 

"  Oh, "  she  laughed,  ' '  keep  it.  But  I  swear  to  you 
by  all  my  other  gods  that  if  you  lie  any  more  about 
my  friends,  I  shall  tell  the  story  Dr.  Abernethy  told 
me.  In  your  greed  and  distrust  of  men  whose  simple 
word  is  as  sure  as  their  bond,  you  threaten  to  tell  a 
tale.  Well,  I  will  exchange  stories  with  you.  I  shall 
improve  mine,  too. ' ' 

"Ah,"  he  cried,  "you  do  promise,  and  keep  no 
word.  You  have  told  already  Schmidt  of  me." 

"I  did— and  one  other;  but  now  the  whole  town 
shall  hear.  You  were  ingenious,  but  the  poor  high 
wayman  was  too  well  hanged." 

Chovet  grew  pale.  "Oh,  Madame,  you  would  not. 
I  should  be  ruined." 

"Then  be  careful  and— go  away.  I  sometimes 
lose  my  temper,  but  never  my  memory.  Eemem- 
ber." 

He  looked  up  at  the  big  woman  as  she  stood 
flushed  with  anger,  and  exclaiming  under  his  breath, 
"QueUe  diablesse!"  went  out  scared  and  uneasy. 


358  THE  BED  CITY 

Looking  from  the  window,  she  saw  him  walk  away. 
His  hands  hung  limp  at  his  sides,  his  head  was 
dropped  on  his  breast ;  not  even  Qa  Ira  looked  more 
dejected. 

' '  Good  heavens !  the  man  ought  to  have  a  bearing- 
rein.  I  much  fear  the  mischief  is  done.  The  little 
brute !  He  is  both  mean  and  treacherous. ' ' 

She  turned  to  look  down  at  the  wreckage  of  her 
household  Lares  and  rang  the  bell. 

Caesar  appeared.  "Sweep  up  my  gods,  and  take 
them  away.  Good  heavens!  I  ought  to  have  flat 
tered  the  man.  I  promised  the  blue  mandarin  to 
Darthea  Wynne  because  he  always  nodded  yes  to 
her  when  she  wanted  advice  to  her  liking.  Well, 
well,  I  am  a  blundering  old  idiot."  She  had  indeed 
made  mischief,  and  repentance,  as  usual  with  her, 
came  late.  She  had,  however,  only  added  to  the 
mischief.  Chovet  had  already  said  enough,  and  the 
loss  of  the  despatch  and  the  attack  on  Carteaux  by 
a  clerk  of  the  Department  of  State  aroused  anew 
the  Democrats  and  fed  the  gossip  of  the  card-tables, 
while  Rene  rode  on  his  homeward  way  with  a  mind 
at  ease.  Nothing  had  so  disturbed  the  social  life  of 
the  city  for  many  a  day.  Before  long  the  matter 
came  to  the  ear  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  who  saw 
at  once  its  bearing  upon  his  department  and  the 
weapon  it  would  be  in  the  hands  of  party.  It  was, 
however,  he  said  to  Mr.  Bingham,  too  wild  a  story 
for  ready  credence,  and  De  Courval  would  soon  be 
at  home. 

A  day  later,  Fauchet  presented  to  the  amazed  and 
angry  Secretary  of  State  Carteaux 's  formal  state- 


THE  RED  CITY  359 

ment,  but  made  no  explanation  of  its  delay  except 
the  illness  of  his  attache.  The  man  was  near  to 
death.  He  himself  believed  his  statement,  the  words 
of  a  man  about  to  die.  Randolph  stood  still  in 
thought.  ' '  Your  charge,  sir, ' '  he  said,  and  he  spoke 
French  well,  ' '  is  that  my  clerk,  the  Vicomte  de  Cour- 
val,  has  stolen  your  despatch  and  perhaps  fatally 
wounded  the  gentleman  commissioned  to  deliver  it. ' ' 

"You  state  it  correctly.    I  am  not  surprised. " 

The  tone  was  so  insolent  that  Randolph  said 
sharply :  ' '  You  are  not  surprised  ?  Am  I  to  presume 
that  you  consider  me  a  party  to  the  matter  ? ' ' 

"I  have  not  said  so,  but  subordinates  are  some 
times  too  zealous  and — " 

"And  what,  sir?" 

"  It  is  idle  to  suppose  that  the  theft  had  no  motive. 
There  was  some  motive,  but  what  it  was  perhaps  the 
English  party  may  be  able  to  explain.  My  despatch 
is  lost.  Your  secretary  took  it  with  the  help  of  one 
Schmidt.  The  loss  is  irreparable  and  of  great  mo 
ment.  I  insist,  sir,  that  the  one  man  who  has  not 
fled  be  dealt  with  by  you,  and  by  the  law. ' ' 

1 1 1  shall  wait,  sir,  until  I  hear  the  vicomte  's  story. 
He  is  a  gentleman  of  irreproachable  character,  a 
man  of  honor  who  has  served  us  here  most  faithfully. 
I  shall  wait  to  hear  from  him.  Your  secretary  seems 
to  have  lied  at  first  and  waited  long  to  tell  this  amaz 
ing  story." 

The  minister  did  not  explain,  but  said  sharply : 

"It  will  be  well  if  that  despatch  can  be  found.  It 
was  meant  only  for  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs. ' ' 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 


360  THE  RED  CITY 

Fauchet  laughed.  "I  trust  that  you  may  never 
have  occasion  to  understand  me  better/'  He  was 
angry,  and  lost  both  his  prudence  and  what  little 
manners  he  ever  possessed.  "It  is  desirable,  or  at 
least  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  thief  destroyed  it. ' ' 

"The  gentleman  you  condemn,  sir,  is  not  yet  on 
trial,  and  this  has  gone  far  enough  and  too  far.  I 
shall  lay  the  matter  in  due  time  before  the  Presi 
dent."  Upon  which  he  bowed  out  the  Republican 
envoy. 

Greatly  annoyed,  Mr.  Randolph  put  the  matter 
before  the  members  of  the  cabinet,  who  agreed  that 
in  justice  they  must  wait  for  De  Courval's  return. 

Meanwhile  Chovet's  gossip  had  done  its  work,  and 
there  were  a  dozen  versions  which  amused  many, 
made  others  angry,  and  fed  the  strife  of  parties ;  for 
now  Fauchet  spoke  of  it  everywhere  with  the  utmost 
freedom. 

"It  is  incredible/'  said  Governor  Penn;  and  the 
women,  too,  were  all  on  the  side  of  De  Courval,  while 
Mr.  Wynne,  in  great  anxiety,  thought  fit  to  call  at 
Mrs.  Swanwick  's  for  news  of  the  vicomte. 

He  saw  in  a  moment  that  the  widow  had  heard 
some  of  the  stories  so  freely  talked  about.  She  had 
found  to  her  relief  some  one  to  whom  she  could 
speak.  ' '  What  is  all  this, ' '  she  asked,  ' '  I  hear  about 
Friend  de  Courval?  My  Uncle  Josiah  has  been  to 
tell  me  and  I  could  make  nothing  of  it?" 

* '  I  know,  Mary,  only  the  wildest  tales.  But  when 
De  Courval  returns,  I  desire  to  see  him  at  once. ' ' 

"His  mother  heard  from  him  to-day  and  we  look 
for  him  possibly  to-morrow.  Gainor  Wynne  has 


THE  EED  CITY  361 

been  here,  in  a  fine  rage.  The  young  man  has  very 
warm  friends,  Hugh.  I  cannot  believe  a  word  of 
it." 

"Nor  I,  what  I  hear.  But  let  him  see  me  at  once." 
The  widow  was  distressed.  * '  Something  there  must 
have  been.  Alas,  my  poor  Margaret!" 

Her  life  had  been  for  many  years  a  constant  strug 
gle  with  poverty,  made  harder  by  remembrance  of 
early  days  of  ease  and  luxury.  She  bore  it  all  with 
high-hearted  courage  and  the  pride  which  for  some 
inexplicable  reason  will  accept  any  gift  except 
money.  It  became  an  easier  life  when  Schmidt  took 
of  her  his  two  rooms  and  became  by  degrees  their 
friend,  while  the  fact  that  the  daughter,  inheriting 
her  beauty,  was  like  herself  of  Friends,  did  in  a 
measure  keep  their  lives  simple  and  free  from  the 
need  for  many  luxuries  she  saw  in  the  homes  of  their 
cousins.  Mrs.  Swanwick  thought,  too,  of  these 
strangers  whom  she  had  nursed,  of  the  vicomtesse,  at 
times  a  little  trying  with  her  sense  of  what  was  due 
to  her;  of  her  son,  kindly,  grave,  thoughtful  of 
others,  religious,— that  was  singular,— and  twice,  as 
it  was  said,  engaged  in  bloody  quarrels.  How  could 
one  understand  that  ? 

She  knew  what  her  bountiful  nature  had  given 
these  exiles.  Now  she  was  again  to  be  a  reproach 
among  Friends  and  to  feel  that  these  people  had 
brought  into  her  quiet  home  for  her  child  only  mis 
fortune  and  sorrow.  If  Schmidt  were  but  here ! 
Margaret  was  at  home,  busy  and  joyful,  knowing 
nothing  of  what  lay  before  her  or  of  this  sinister 
story  of  attempted  murder  and  robbery.  Resolutely 


362  THE  RED  CITY 

setting  it  all  aside,  Mrs.  Swanwick  went  out  to  pro 
vide  for  the  wants  of  the  day. 

A  half  hour  later  De  Courval  crossed  the  city, 
riding  along  High  Street.  A  pleasant  comrade— 
Joy— went  with  him  as  he  turned  down  Front 
Street,  past  widely  separated  houses  and  gardens 
gay  with  flowers.  Once  they  had  been  country 
homes,  but  now  the  city  was  slowly  crowding  in  on 
them  with  need  for  docks.  He  left  his  horse  at  the 
stable  and  walked  swiftly  homeward. 

Mrs.  Swanwick 's  house  was  still  remote  enough  to 
be  secure  from  the  greed  of  commerce.  The  dusty, 
gray  road  before  him,  dry  with  the  intense  heat  of 
August,  ran  southward.  No  one  was  in  sight. 
There  was  something  mysteriously  depressing  in  the 
long  highway  without  sign  of  life,  a  reminder  of 
that  terrible  summer  when  day  by  day  he  had  come 
cut  of  the  house  and  seen  no  one. 

As  he  drew  near  Mrs.  Swanwick 's  door,  he  met 
Captain  Biddle.  "Oh,  by  George!"  said  the  sailor, 
"so  you  are  come  at  last,  and  none  too  soon.  I  have 
been  here  thrice." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Captain?    Is  any  one  ill?" 

"No;  but  there  is  a  lot  of  lies  about  you.  There 
is  neither  decency  nor  charity  ashore.  Have  you 
been  at  the  State  Department  or  seen  any  one?" 

"No.  I  am  this  moment  come  back.  But,  for 
God's  sake,  Captain,  tell  me  what  it  is." 

' '  A  fellow  named  Carteaux  has  charged  you  with 
half  killing  him  and  stealing  his  despatches.  That 
is  all  I  know. ' ' 

"Is  that  all?     Diablo!     I  am  sorry  I  did  not 


THE  RED  CITY  363 

wholly  kill  him.    I  knew  this  would  come  out  soon  or 
late.    Of  course  he  is  lying ;  but  I  did  shoot  him. ' ' 

"There  is  a  malignant  article  in  the  'Aurora'  to 
day—there,  I  marked  it." 

Rene  looked  it  over  as  he  stood.  "So  I  am  the 
thief,  I  am  the  agent  of  the  cabinet  or  the  Federal 
party,  and  mon  Dieu,  Schmidt— 

"It  is  serious,"  said  the  captain.  "A  horsewhip 
is  the  weapon  needed  here,  but  I  am  at  your  service 
in  every  way." 

"Thank  you;  but  first  of  all,  I  must  see  Mr.  Ran 
dolph;  and,  oh,  worst  of  all,  Schmidt  is  absent!" 
He  felt  that  he  could  not  meet  Margaret  until  he  had 
put  an  end  to  this  slander.  He  foresaw  also  that  to 
meet  with  success  would,  in  Schmidt's  absence,  be 
difficult.  Thanking  his  sailor  friend,  he  made  haste 
to  see  his  official  superior. 

1 '  Ah, ' '  said  Randolph,  "  I  am  both  glad  and  sorry 
to  see  you.  Sit  down.  Have  you  heard  of  the 
charges  against  you  made  by  Mr.  Fauchet  for  his 
secretary,  Carteaux?" 

' '  Nothing  very  clear,  sir ;  but  enough  to  bring  me 
here  instantly  to  have  the  thing  explained  to  me. ' ' 
"Pray  read  this  statement," 
De  Courval  read  Carteaux's  deposition  and,  flush 
ing  with  sudden  anger  he  threw  the  paper  on  the 
table.    "So  it  seems  I  deliberately  waylaid  and  shot 
the  secretary  of  an  envoy  in  order  to  steal  his  de 
spatches.  ' ' 

"That  is  the  charge,  made  by  a  man  who  I  am 
assured  is  dying.  You  can  have  no  objection  to  my 
asking  you  a  few  questions. ' ' 


364  THE  RED  CITY 

"None.    I  shall  like  it." 

"Did  you  shoot  this  man?" 

"I  did.  He  was  of  the  mock  court  which  mur 
dered  my  father  at  Avignon.  Any  French  gentle 
man  here  can  tell  you — Du  Vallon  for  one,  and  De 
Noailles.  Of  the  direct  personal  part  this  man  took 
in  causing  my  father's  death  I  have  not  talked. 
Twice  he  has  had  the  equal  chance  I  would  have 
given  a  gentleman.  Yes,  I  meant  to  kill  him." 

"But,  Vicomte-" 

"Pardon  me."  And  he  told  briefly  the  story  of 
Carteaux's  treacherous  shot  and  of  why  for  a  while 
it  seemed  well  to  Schmidt  to  silence  the  man. 

"It  was  unwise.  A  strange  and  sad  affair,"  said 
the  secretary, ' '  but,  Monsieur,  it  is  only  this  recent  mat 
ter  which  concerns  me,  and  the  fact,  the  unfortunate 
fact,  that  your  enemy  was  a  bearer  of  despatches. 
Who  can  substantiate  your  statement  as  against  that 
of  a  man  said  to  be  dying  ?  Who  can  I  call  upon  ? ' ' 

"No  one.  Mr.  Schmidt  saw  it.  He  is  in  Europe. 
The  man  lies.  It  is  his  word  or  mine.  He  says  here 
nothing  of  its  being  only  a  personal  quarrel;  and 
why  did  he  wait?  Ah,  clearly  until  Schmidt,  who 
saw  it  all,  had  gone  to  Europe  and  I  was  absent." 

1 <  Why  he  waited  I  cannot  say.  The  rest  concerns 
me  greatly.  Did  you  destroy  his  despatches  ? ' ' 

"Mon  Dieu!  I?  No.  Mr.  Schmidt,  in  cutting 
open  his  clothes  to  get  at  his  wound,  found  those  pa 
pers,  and  then  seeing  what  I  had  done,  and  how  the 
department  might  be  credited  with  it,  or  at  least  the 
English  party,  I  myself  carried  the  despatch  to  its 
address,  the  captain  of  the  Jean  Bart." 


THE  RED  CITY  365 

"Did  you  get  a  receipt?" 

' '  I  asked  for  it.  It  was  refused.  The  captain  was 
angry  at  what  he  said  had  been  dangerous  delay, 
and  refused  unless  I  would  come  on  board  and  talk 
to  him.  I  of  course  declined  to  do  so.  I  would  cer 
tainly  have  been  carried  to  France. ' ' 

"She  has  sailed,  the  Jean  Bart?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  what  proof  have  you  as  against  the  depo 
sition  of  a  man  in  extremis?" 

"None  but  my  word,  that  I  gave  to  an  officer  of 
the  corvette  a  package  of  papers." 

"The  minister  was  insolent  enough  to  hint  that 
this  was  a  robbery  in  the  interest  of  my  service  and 
a  plot  of  the  Federalist  English  sympathizers.  In 
fact,  he  implied  even  more.  I  am  asked  to  dismiss 
you  as  proof  that  we  at  least  are  in  no  way  a  party 
to  the  matter." 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Secretary — would  that  be 
proof?" 

"No,  sir.  Pardon  me.  This  affair  has  been  twice 
before  the  cabinet,  where,  to  be  frank,  some  differ 
ence  of  opinion  existed.  The  President— but  no 
matter.  You  admit  the  fact  of  the  assault  and,  well, 
the  taking  of  the  paper.  You  do  not  deny  either. 
You  have  no  evidence  in  favor  of  your  explanation, 
—none." 

' '  Pardon  me ;  I  have  said  De  Noailles  could  assure 
you  that  I  had  cause  for  a  personal  quarrel. ' ' 

1  i  Admit  the  personal  motive,  it  does  not  help  you. 
The  Republicans  are  using  this  scandal  freely,  and 
we  have  quite  enough  complications,  as  you  know. 


366  THE  RED  CITY 

If  these  people  urge  it,  the  law  may  be  appealed  to. 
To  conclude,  this  is  not  a  cabinet  matter,  and  it  was 
so  decided.  It  affects  the  honor  of  my  own  depart 
ment.  ' ' 

' '  Sir,  the  honor ! "  De  Courval  rose  as  he  spoke. 
' '  You  have  said  what  I  could  permit  no  one  but  my 
official  superior  to  say. ' ' 

"I  regret  to  have  been  so  unpleasant,  but  having 
duly  considered  the  matter,  I  must  reluctantly  ask 
you  not  to  return  to  the  office  until  you  can  clear 
yourself  by  other  evidence  than  your  own.  I  deeply 
regret  it. ' ' 

"You  are  plain  enough,  sir,  and  I  most  unfortu 
nate.  It  does  seem  to  me  that  my  life  here  might  at 
least  give  my  word  value  as  against  that  of  this  lying 
Jacobin. ' ' 

The  Secretary  made  no  reply.  Randolph,  al 
though  a  kindly  man  and  courteous,  had  nothing 
more  to  say  to  the  young  clerk.  He  was  but  one  of 
many  emigre  nobles  cast  on  our  shores,  and  his  re 
lations  with  the  Secretary  had  been  simply  official, 
although,  as  the  latter  would  have  admitted,  the  ser 
vice  rendered  had  been  of  the  best. 

Still  standing,  Rene  waited  a  moment  after  his 
personal  appeal  for  justice,  but,  as  I  have  said,  the 
Secretary  did  not  see  fit  to  answer.  To  have  bluntly 
refused  Fauchet's  demand  would  have  been  his  de 
sire  and  decision ;  but  as  a  matter  of  policy  he  must 
do  something  to  disarm  party  criticism.  With  this 
in  mind  he  had  offered  the  young  man  a  compro 
mise  ;  and  not  quite  sure  that  he  should  not  have  dis 
missed  him,  he  seemed  to  himself,  considering  all 
things,  to  have  acted  with  moderation. 


Then  I  beg  to  resign  my  position '" 


THE  KED  CITY  369 

De  Courval,  who  had  waited  on  the  Secretary's  si 
lence,  said  at  last,  "I  judge,  sir,  that  you  have  no 
more  to  say." 

"No.  I  am  sorry  that  nothing  you  have  told  me 
changes  this  very  painful  situation. ' ' 

"Then  I  beg  to  resign  my  position.  I  have  many 
friends  and  time  will  do  me  justice." 

The  Secretary  would  have  preferred  the  young 
vicomte  to  have  accepted  his  offer.  He  was  not  as 
sured  that  Carteaux's  story  was  correct;  but  what 
else  could  he  do  ?  "  Are  you  not  hasty  ? "  he  said. 

"No.  You  believe  me  to  have  lied,  and  my  sole 
witness,  Mr.  Schmidt,  is  in  Germany.  It  is  he  who 
is  slandered  as  well  as  I.  I  shall  come  here  no  more. 
Here  is  my  report  on  the  condition  of  the  frontier 
counties. ' ' 

"No,  Vicomte.  I  did  not  doubt  your  word,  but 
only  your  power  to  prove  your  truth  for  others  who 
do  not  know  you." 

' '  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing, ' '  said  De  Courval, 
coldly.  "Good  morning." 

He  went  to  his  own  office,  and  stood  a  moment  in 
the  small,  whitewashed  room,  reflecting  with  indig 
nant  anger  on  the  sudden  ending  of  a  career  he  had 
enjoyed.  Then  he  gathered  his  personal  belongings 
and  calling  the  old  negro  caretaker,  bade  him  carry 
them  to  Mrs.  Swanwick's. 

As  for  the  last  time  he  went  down  the  steps,  he 
said  to  himself:  "So  I  am  thrown  to  the  wolves  of 
party!  I  knew  I  should  be,  and  I  said  so,"  which 
was  hardly  just  to  the  man  he  left,  who  would  have 
been  pleased  if  his  compromise  had  been  accepted. 


370  THE  BED  CITY 

Little  could  Randolph  have  imagined  that  the  re 
mote  agency  of  the  man  he  had  thus  thrown  over 
would  result  for  himself  in  a  situation  not  unlike 
that  which  he  had  created  for  his  subordinate. 

"I  am  ruined/'  murmured  De  Courval.  "Who 
will  believe  me  ?  and  Margaret !  My  God !  that  is  at 
an  end !  And  my  mother ! ' ' 

He  walked  slowly  homeward,  avoiding  people  and 
choosing  the  alley  by-ways  so  numerous  in  Penn's 
city. 

The  hall  door  was  usually  open  in  the  afternoon 
to  let  the  breeze  pass  through.  He  went  into 
Schmidt's  room,  and  then  into  the  garden,  seeing 
only  Nanny  and  black  Cicero,  with  whom  he  was  a 
favorite.  No  one  was  in  but  madame,  his  mother. 
Mr.  Girard  had  been  to  ask  for  him  and  Mr.  Bing- 
ham  and  Mr.  Wynne,  and  others.  So  it  was  to  be 
the  mother  first. 

He  was  used  to  the  quiet,  unemotional  welcome. 
He  kissed  her  hand  and  her  forehead,  saying,  "You 
look  well,  mother,  despite  the  heat." 

"Yes,  I  am  well.  Tell  me  of  your  journey.  Ah, 
but  I  am  glad  to  see  you !  I  have  had  but  one  letter. 
You  should  have  written  more  often."  The  charm 
of  his  mother 's  voice,  always  her  most  gracious  qual 
ity,  just  now  affected  him  almost  to  tears. 

"I  did  write,  mother,  several  times.  The  journey 
may  wait.  I  have  bad  news  for  you. ' ' 

"None  is  possible  for  me  while  you  live,  my  son." 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said.  "The  man  Carteaux,  having 
heard  of  Schmidt's  absence  and  mine,  has  formally 
charged  me  with  shooting  him  without  warning  in 
order  to  steal  his  despatches." 


THE  RED  CITY  371 

"Ah,  you  should  have  killed  him.    I  said  so/' 

"Yes,  perhaps.  The  charge  is  clearly  made  on 
paper,  attested  by  witnesses.  He  is  said  to  be  dy 
ing." 

"Thank  God." 

"I  have  only  my  word."  He  told  quietly  of  the 
weakness  of  his  position,  of  the  political  aspect  of  the 
affair,  of  his  interview  and  his  resignation. 

' '  Did  you  ask  Mr.  Randolph  to  apologize,  Rene  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  mother,  one  cannot  do  that  with  a  cabinet 
minister. ' ' 

"Why  not?  And  is  this  all?  You  resign  a  little 
clerkship.  I  am  surprised  that  it  troubles  you." 

"Mother,  it  is  ruin." 

"Nonsense!  What  is  there  to  make  you  talk  of 
ruin?" 

' '  The  good  word  of  men  lost ;  the  belief  in  my 
honor.  Oh,  mother,  do  you  not  see  it?  And  it  is  a 
case  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  nothing.  If 
Randolph,  after  my  long  service,  does  not  believe 
me,  who  will?" 

She  was  very  little  moved  by  anything  he  said. 
She  lived  outside  of  the  world  of  men,  one  of  those 
island  lives  on  which  the  ocean  waves  of  exterior  ex 
istence  beat  in  vain.  The  want  of  sympathy  pain 
fully  affected  him.  She  had  said  it  was  of  no 
moment,  and  had  no  helpful  advice  to  give.  The 
constantly  recurring  thought  of  Margaret  came  and 
went  as  they  talked,  and  added  to  his  pain.  He 
tried  to  make  her  see  both  the  shame  and  even  the 
legal  peril  of  his  position.  It  was  quite  useless.  He 
was  for  her  the  Vicomte  de  Courval,  and  these  only 
common  people  whom  a  revolution  had  set  in  high 


372  THE  EED  CITY 

places.  Never  before  had  he  fully  realized  the 
quality  of  his  mother's  unassailable  pride.  It  was  a 
foretaste  of  what  he  might  have  to  expect  when  she 
should  learn  of  his  engagement  to  Margaret;  but 
now  that,  too,  must  end.  He  went  away,  exhausted 
as  from  a  bodily  struggle. 

In  the  hall  he  met  Margaret  just  come  in,  the  joy 
of  time-nurtured  love  on  her  face.  "Oh,  Rene ! ' '  she 
cried.  "How  I  have  longed  for  thee!  Come  out 
into  the  garden.  The  servants  hear  everything  in 
the  house." 

They  went  out  and  sat  down  under  the  trees,  she 
talking  gaily,  he  silent. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  inquired  at  last,  of  a 
sudden  anxious. 

"Pearl,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  disgraced  and  ruined 
man." 

"Rene,  what  dost  thou  mean?  Disgraced, 
ruined ! ' ' 

He  poured  out  this  oft-repeated  story  of  Avig 
non,  the  scene  on  the  Bristol  road,  the  despatch,  and 
last,  his  talk  with  Randolph  and  his  resignation. 

"And  this,"  she  said,  "was  what  some  day  I  was 
to  hear.  It  is  terrible,  but— ruined— oh,  that  thou 
art  not.  Think  of  the  many  who  love  thee!  And 
disgraced?  Thou  art  Rene  de  Courval." 

"Yes;  but,  Pearl,  dear  Pearl,  this  ends  my  joy. 
How  can  I  ask  you  to  marry  a  man  in  my  position?" 

For  a  moment  she  said  no  word.  Then  she  kissed 
him.  "There  is  my  answer,  Rene." 

' '  No,  no.  It  is  over.  I  cannot.  As  a  gentleman, 
I  cannot." 


THE  EED  CITY  373 

Again  the  wholesome  discipline  of  Friends  came 
to  her  assistance.  It  was  a  serious  young  face  she 
saw.  He  it  was  who  was  weak,  and  she  strong. 

* '  Trouble  comes  to  all  of  us  in  life,  Rene.  I  could 
not  expect  always  to  escape.  It  has  come  to  us  in 
the  morning  of  our  love.  Let  us  meet  it  together. 
It  is  a  terrible  story,  this.  How  can  I,  an  inexperi 
enced  girl,  know  how  to  regard  it?  I  am  sure  thou 
hast  done  what  was  right  in  thine  own  eyes.  My 
mother  will  say  thou  shouldst  have  left  it  to  God's 
justice.  I  do  not  know.  I  am  not  sure.  I  suppose  it 
is  because  I  so  love  thee  that  I  do  not  know.  We 
shall  never  speak  of  it  again,  never.  It  is  the  con 
sequences  we — yes,  we — have  to  deal  with." 

' '  There  is  no  way  to  deal  with  them. ' '  He  was  in 
resourceless  despair. 

1  'No,  no.  Friend  Schmidt  will  return.  He  is  sure 
to  come,  and  this  will  all  be  set  right.  Dost  thou 
remember  how  the  blessed  waters  washed  away  thy 
care  ?  Is  not  love  as  surely  good  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes;  but  this  is  different.  That  was  a  trifle." 

"No;  it  is  the  waiting  here  for  Friend  Schmidt 
that  troubles  me.  What  is  there  but  to  wait  ?  Thou 
art  eager  to  do  something;  that  is  the  man's 
way,  and  the  other  is  the  woman's  way.  Take  thy 
daily  swim,  ride,  sail;  the  body  will  help  the  soul. 
It  will  all  come  right;  but  not  marry  me!  Then, 
Rene  de  Courval,  I  shall  marry  thee." 

A  divine  hopefulness  was  in  her  words,  and  for 
the  first  time  he  knew  what  a  firm  and  noble  nature 
had  been  given  the  woman  at  his  side,  what  power 
to  trust,  what  tenderness,  what  common  sense,  and, 


374  THE  BED  CITY 

too,  what  insight;  for  he  knew  she  was  right.  The 
contrast  to  his  mother  was  strange,  and  in  a  way 
distressing. 

"I  must  think  it  over,"  he  said. 

' '  Thou  wilt  do  no  such  thing.  Thou,  indeed !  As 
if  it  were  thy  business  alone !  I  am  a  partner  thou 
wilt  please  to  remember.  Thou  must  see  thy  friends, 
and,  above  all,  write,  to  Mr.  Hamilton  at  once,  and 
do  as  I  have  said.  I  shall  speak  to  my  mother.  Hast 
thou— of  course  thou  hast  seen  thy  mother?" 

1 1 1  have ;  and  she  takes  it  all  as  a  matter  of  no  mo 
ment,  really  of  not  the  least  importance." 

' '  Indeed,  and  so  must  we.  Now,  I  am  to  be  kissed 
—oh,  once,  for  the  good  of  thy  soul— I  said  once. 
Mr.  Bingham  has  been  here.  See  him  and  Mr. 
Wynne,  and  swim  to-night,  Rene,  and  be  careful, 
too,  of  my  property,  thy— dear  self." 

Even  in  this  hour  of  mortification,  and  with  the 
memory  of  Randolph's  doubt  in  mind,  Rene  had 
some  delightful  sense  of  being  taken  in  hand  and 
disciplined.  He  had  not  said  again  that  the  tie 
which  bound  them  together  must  be  broken.  He  had 
tacitly  accepted  the  joy  of  defeat,  a  little  ashamed, 
perhaps. 

Every  minute  of  this  talk  had  been  a  revelation  to 
the  man  who  had  lived  near  Margaret  for  years.  An 
older  man  could  have  told  him  that  no  length  of  life 
will  reveal  to  the  most  observant  love  all  the  pos 
sibilities  of  thought  or  action  in  the  woman  who  may 
for  years  have  been  his  wife.  There  will  always  re 
main  surprises  of  word  and  deed. 

Although  Rene  listened  and  said  that  he  could  do 


THE  RED  CITY  375 

none  of  the  things  she  urged,  the  woman  knew  that 
he  would  do  all  of  them. 

At  last  she  started  up,  saying:  "Why,  Rene,  thou 
hast  not  had  thy  dinner,  and  now,  as  we  did  not  look 
for  thee,  it  is  long  over.  Come  in  at  once." 

"Dear  Pearl,"  he  said,  "I  am  better  let  alone.  I 
do  not  need  anything,"  He  wished  to  be  left  by 
himself  to  brood  over  the  cruel  wrong  of  the  morn 
ing,  and  with  any  one  but  Pearl  he  would  have 
shown  some  sense  of  irritation  at  her  persistence. 

The  wild  creatures  are  tamed  by  starvation,  the 
animal  man  by  good  feeding.  This  fact  is  the  sure 
possession  of  every  kindly  woman ;  and  so  it  was  that 
De  Courval  went  meekly  to  the  house  and  was  fed,— 
as  was  indeed  needed, — and  having  been  fed,  with 
the  girl  watching  him,  was  better  in  body  and  hap 
pier  in  mind. 

He  went  at  once  into  Schmidt's  study  and  wrote 
to  Hamilton,  while  Margaret,  sitting  in  her  room  at 
the  eastward  window,  cried  a  little  and  smiled  be 
tween  the  tears  and  wondered  at  the  ways  of  men. 

What  she  said  to  her  mother  may  be  easily 
guessed.  The  vicomtesse  was  as  usual  at  the  even 
ing  meal,  where  Rene  exerted  himself  to  talk  of  his 
journey  to  Mrs.  Swanwick,  less  interested  than  was 
her  way. 

The  day  drew  to  a  close.  The  shadows  came  with 
coolness  in  the  air.  The  endless  embroidery  went 
on,  the  knitting  needles  clicked,  and  a  little  later  in 
the  dusk,  Margaret  smiled  as  Rene  went  down  the 
garden  to  the  river,  a  towel  on  his  arm. 

"I  did  him  good,"  she  murmured  proudly. 


376  THE  BED  CITY 

Later  in  the  evening  they  were  of  one  mind  that 
it  was  well  to  keep  their  engagement  secret,  above 
all,  not  to  confide  it  to  their  relatives  or  to  Miss 
Wynne  until  there  was  some  satisfactory  outcome  of 
the  serious  charge  which  had  caused  Randolph  to 
act  as  he  had  done. 


XXYI 

MR.  HAMILTON'S  reply  came  in  five  days.  He 
would  come  at  once.  De  Courval's  friends, 
Bingham  and  Wynne,  had  heard  his  story,  and 
thought  he  did  well  to  resign,  while  Wynne  advised 
him  to  come  to  Merion  for  a  week  or  two.  His 
other  adviser  would  not  have  even  the  appearance 
of  flight. 

" Above  all,"  said  Margaret,  "go  about  as  usual. 
Thou  must  not  avoid  people,  and  after  Mr.  Hamilton 
comes  and  is  gone,  think  of  Merion  if  it  so  please 
thee,  or  I  can  let  thee  go.  Aunt  Gainor  was  here  in 
one  of  her  fine  tempers  yesterday.  I  am  jealous  of 
her,  Monsieur  de  Courval.  And  she  has  her  suspi 
cions." 

He  took  her  advice,  and  saw  too  easily  that  he 
was  the  observed  of  many;  for  in  the  city  he  had 
long  been  a  familiar  personality,  with  his  clean 
shaven,  handsome  face  and  the  erect  figure,  which 
showed  the  soldier's  training.  He  was,  moreover, 
a  favorite,  especially  with  the  older  men  and 
women,  so  that  not  all  the  looks  he  met  were  either 
from  hostile,  cockaded  Jacobins  or  from  the  merely 
curious. 

Mr.  Thomas  Cadwalader  stopped  him,  and  said 
that  at  need  he  was  at  his  service,  if  he  desired  to 

24 

377 


378  THE  BED  CITY 

call  out  the  minister  or  the  Secretary.  Mrs.  Byrd, 
both  curious  and  kind,  would  have  him  to  come  and 
tell  her  all  about  it,  which  he  was  little  inclined 
to  do. 

He  took  Margaret's  wholesome  advice,  and  swam 
and  rode,  and  was  in  a  calmer  state  of  mind,  and 
even  happy  at  the  greetings  of  those  in  the  fencing 
school,  where  were  some  whom,  out  of  his  slender 
means,  he  had  helped.  They  told  him  gleefully 
how  de  Malerive  had  given  up  the  ice-cream  busi 
ness  for  a  morning  to  quiet  for  a  few  weeks  an  Irish 
Democrat  who  had  said  of  the  vicomte  unpleasant 
things;  and  would  he  not  fence?  "Yes,  now,"  he 
said  smiling,  and  would  use  the  pistol  no  more. 

Mr.  Hamilton  came  as  he  had  promised.  "I 
must  return  to  New  York,"  he  said,  "to-morrow. 
I  have  heard  from  Schmidt.  He  may  not  come 
very  soon;  but  I  wrote  him  fully,  on  hearing  from 
you.  He  will  be  sure  to  come  soon  or  late,  but 
meanwhile  I  have  asked  General  Washington  to  see 
you  with  me.  It  may,  indeed,  be  of  small  pres 
ent  use,  but  I  want  him  to  hear  you— your  own  ac 
count  of  this  affair.  So  far  he  has  had  only  what 
Mr.  Randolph  has  been  pleased  to  tell  him.  I  made 
it  a  personal  favor.  Let  us  go.  The  cabinet  meet 
ing  will  be  over/* 

Rene  thanked  him  and  not  altogether  assured 
that  any  good  would  result  from  this  visit,  walked 
away  with  Hamilton,  the  two  men  attracting  some 
attention.  The  President  at  this  time  lived  on 
High  Street,  in  the  former  house  of  Robert  Morris, 
near  to  Sixth  Street.  They  were  shown  into  the 


THE  BED  CITY  379 

office  room  on  the  right,  which  De  Courval  knew 
well,  and  where  Genet,  the  Jacobin  minister,  had 
been  insulted  by  the  medallions  of  the  hapless  king 
and  queen. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  President  entered.  He 
bowed  formally,  and  said,  "Pray  be  seated,  Vi- 
comte.  I  have  been  asked,  sir,  by  Mr.  Hamilton  to 
hear  you.  As  you  are  not  now  in  the  service,  I  am 
pleased  to  allow  myself  the  pleasure  to  do  so,  al 
though  I  have  thought  it  well  to  advise  Mr.  Ran 
dolph  of  my  intention.  Your  case  has  been  before 
the  cabinet,  but  as  yours  was  a  position  solely  in 
the  gift  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  I— or  we,  have 
felt  that  his  appointments  should  lie  wholly  within 
his  control." 

"And  of  disappointments,  also,  I  suppose,"  said 
Hamilton,  smiling,  a  privileged  person. 

Little  open  to  appreciation  of  humor,  no  smile 
came  upon  the  worn  face  of  the  President.  He 
turned  to  Hamilton  as  he  spoke,  and  then  went  on 
addressing  De  Courval,  and  speaking,  as  was  his 
way,  with  deliberate  slowness.  "I  have  given  this 
matter  some  personal  consideration  because,  al 
though  Mr.  Secretary  Randolph  has  acted  as  to  him 
seemed  best,  you  have  friends  who,  to  be  frank  with 
you,  feel  desirous  that  I  should  be  informed  by  you 
in  person  of  what  took  place.  I  am  willing  to  oblige 
them.  You  are,  it  seems,  unfortunate.  There  are 
two  serious  charges,  an  assault  and— pardon  me— 
the  seizure  of  a  despatch.  May  I  be  allowed  to  ask 
you  certain  questions?" 

"I  shall  be  highly  honored,  sir." 


380  THE  RED  CITY 

"This,  I  am  given  to  understand,  was  a  personal 
quarrel. ' ' 

"Yes,  your  Excellency." 

"What  the  law  may  say  of  the  matter,  I  do  not 
know.  What  concerns  us  most  is  the  despatch.  In 
what  I  say  I  desire,  sir,  to  be  considered  open  to 
correction.  When,  as  I  am  told,  you  followed  Mr. 
Carteaux,  intending  a  very  irregular  duel,  did  you 
know  that  he  carried  a  despatch?" 

"I  did  not  until  Mr.  Schmidt  found  it.  Then  the 
man  was  cared  for,  and  I  delivered  his  papers  to 
their  destination." 

"I  regret,  sir,  to  hear  that  of  this  you  have  no 
proof.  Here  your  word  suffices.  Outside  of  these 
walls  it  has  been  questioned. ? ' 

"I  have  no  proof,— none  of  any  value,— nor  can 
I  ever  hope  to  prove  that  I  did  what  my  own  honor 
and  my  duty  to  the  administration  required." 

Hamilton  listened  intently  while  the  aging,  tired 
face  of  the  President  for  a  moment  seemed  lost  in 
reflection.  Then  the  large,  blue  eyes  were  lifted  as 
he  said,  "At  present  this  matter  seems  hopeless,  sir, 
but  time  answers  many  questions."  Upon  this  he 
turned  to  Hamilton.  "There  are  two  persons  in 
volved.  Who,  sir,  is  this  Mr.  Schmidt?  I  am  told 
that  he  has  left  the  country;  in  fact,  has  fled." 

For  a  moment  Hamilton  was  embarrassed.  "I 
can  vouch  for  him  as  my  friend.  He  was  called  to 
Germany  on  a  matter  of  moment.  At  present  I  am 
not  at  liberty  to  reply  to  you  more  fully.  He  is 
sure  to  return,  and  then  I  may,— indeed,  I  am  sure, 
will  be  more  free  to  answer  you  frankly. 


THE  BED  CITY  381 

"But  if  so,  what  value  will  his  evidence  have? 
None,  I  conceive,  as  affecting  the  loss  of  the  de 
spatch.  If  that  charge  were  disproved,  the  political 
aspect  of  the  matter  would  become  unimportant. 
The  affair,  so  far  as  the  duel  is  concerned,  would 
become  less  serious." 

"It  seems  so  to  me,"  said  Hamilton.  "The 
Democrats  are  making  the  most  of  it,  and  the  Eng 
lish  Federalists  are  doing  harm  by  praising  my 
young  friend  for  what  he  did  not  do  and  never 
would  have  done.  They  were  mad  enough  in  New 
York  to  propose  a  dinner  to  the  vicomte." 

The  President  rose.  "I  do  not  think  it  advisable, 
Mr.  Hamilton,  to  pursue  this  matter  further  at 
present ;  nor,  sir,  do  I  apprehend  that  any  good  can 
result  for  this  gentleman  from  my  willingness  to 
gratify  your  wish  that  I  should  see  him." 

"We  shall  detain  your  Excellency  no  longer." 

The  President  was  never  fully  at  ease  when 
speaking,  and  owing  to  a  certain  deliberateness  in 
speech,  was  thought  to  be  dull  when  in  company 
and,  perhaps  through  consciousness  of  a  difficulty 
in  expression,  was  given  to  silence,  a  disposition 
fostered,  no  doubt,  by  the  statesman's  long  dis 
ciplined  need  for  reticence. 

After  Hamilton  had  accepted  the  President's  ris 
ing  as  a  signal  of  their  audience  being  over,  Rene, 
seeing  that  the  general  did  not  at  once  move  toward 
the  door,  waited  for  Hamilton.  The  ex-Secretary, 
however,  knew  well  the  ways  of  his  friend  and  stood 
still,  aware  that  the  President  was  slowly  consider 
ing  what  further  he  desired  to  say. 


382  THE  RED  CITY 

The  pause  was  strange  to  De  Courval  as  he  stood 
intently  watching  the  tall  figure  in  black  velvet, 
and  the  large  features  on  which  years  of  war  and 
uneasy  peace  had  left  their  mark. 

Then  with  more  than  his  usual  animation,  the 
President  came  nearer  to  De  Courval :  "  I  have  my 
self,  sir,  often  had  to  bide  on  time  for  full  justifica 
tion  of  my  actions.  While  you  are  in  pursuit  of 
means  to  deal  with  the  suspicions  arising,  permit 
me  to  say,  from  your  own  imprudence  you  will 
have  to  bear  in  silence  what  men  say  of  you.  I  re 
gret,  to  conclude,  that  I  cannot  interfere  in  this 
matter.  I  discover  it  to  be  more  agreeable  to  say  to 
you  that  personally  I  entirely  believe  you.  But 
this  you  must  consider  as  spoken  'under  the  rose'  ' 
—a  favorite  expression.  De  Courval  flushed  with 
joy,  and  could  say  no  more  than:  "I  thank  you. 
You  have  helped  me  to  wait." 

The  general  bowed,  and  at  the  door,  as  they  were 
passing  out,  said :  "  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  again  in 
the  service,  and  you  must  not  think  of  retiring  per 
manently  from  the  work  which  you  have  done  so 
well.  I  remind  myself  that  I  have  not  yet  thanked 
you  for  your  report.  It  has  greatly  relieved  my 
mind."  On  this  he  put  out  his  hand,  over  which 
Rene  bowed  in  silent  gratitude,  and  with  a  last  look 
at  the  weary  face  of  the  man  whose  life  had  been 
one  long  sacrifice  to  duty,  he  went  away,  feeling 
the  strengthening  influence  of  a  great  example. 

As  they  reached  the  street,  Rene  said,  "How  just 
he  is,  and  how  clear ! ' ' 

"Yes.     A  slowly  acting  mind,  but  sure— and  in 


THE  BED  CITY  383 

battle,  in  danger,  swift,  decisive,  and  reckless  of 
peril.  Are  you  satisfied?" 

"Yes,  I  am.  I  shall  be,  even  though  this  matter 
is  never  cleared  up." 

"It  will  be.  He  said  so,  and  I  have  long  since 
learned  to  trust  his  foresight.  In  all  my  long  ex 
perience  of  the  man,  I  have  scarcely  ever  heard  him 
speak  at  such  length.  You  may  live  to  see  many 
men  in  high  places;  you  will  never  see  a  greater 
than  George  Washington.  I  know  him  as  few  know 
him." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  added, 
"When  I  was  young  and  hasty,  and  thought  more 
of  Alexander  Hamilton  than  I  do  to-day,  he  forgave 
me  an  outburst  of  youthful  impertinence  which 
would  have  made  a  vainer  man  desire  to  see  no 
more  of  me."  De  Courval,  a  less  quick-tempered 
character,  wondered  that  any  one  should  have  taken 
a  liberty  with  the  man  they  had  just  left. 

"But  now  I  must  leave  you,"  said  Hamilton. 
"If  Schmidt  returns,  he  will  land  in  New  York, 
and  I  shall  come  hither  with  him.  Have  you  seen 
the  new  paper,  the  'Aurora'?  Mr.  Bache  has  taken 
up  the  task  Freneau  dropped— of  abusing  the 
President." 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  it.  I  suppose  now  it  is  the 
English  treaty.  It  will  interest  me  no  longer." 

"Oh,  for  a  time,  for  a  time.  Between  us,  the 
President  has  sent  it  to  the  Senate.  It  will  leak  out. 
He  will  sign  it  with  a  reservation  as  concerns  the 
English  claim  to  seize  provisions  meant  for  French 
ports.  Do  not  speak  of  it.  Randolph  is  striving  to 


384  THE  KED  CITY 

strengthen  the  President's  scruples  with  regard  to 
a  not  altogether  satisfactory  treaty,  but,  on  the 
whole,  the  best  we  can  get.  It  will  be  signed  and 
will  be  of  great  service.  Keep  this  to  yourself,  and 
good-by.  Randolph  is  too  French  for  me.  I  may 
have  said  to  you  once  that  if  we  had  a  navy,  it  is 
not  peace  that  the  President  would  desire." 

De  Courval  hastened  home  to  pour  into  the  ear  of 
Margaret  so  much  of  his  interview  as  he  felt  free  to 
speak  of. 

"My  mother/'  she  said,  "would  speak  to  thee  of 
me,  Rene."  But  he  asked  that  she  would  wait,  and 
his  sense  of  satisfaction  soon  gave  place,  as  was 
natural,  to  a  return  of  depression,  which  for  a  time 
left  him  only  when  in  the  company  of  Margaret. 
Her  mother,  usually  so  calm,  did  most  uneasily  wait 
while  the  days  went  by,  but  made  no  effort  to  inter 
fere  with  the  lovers. 

On  the  9th  of  August,  at  evening,  Margaret  and 
Rene  were  seated  in  the  garden  when  of  a  sudden 
Rene  leaped  up  with  a  cry  of  joyous  welcome,  as  he 
saw  Schmidt,  large,  bronzed  and  laughing,  on  the 
porch. 

(lDu  Outer  Himmel!"  he  cried,  "but  I  am  con 
tent  to  be  here.  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Ach, 
let  me  sit  down.  Now  listen.  But  first,  is  it  all 
right,  children?" 

"May  I  tell  him  in  my  way,  Rene?" 

1 '  Yes,  of  course ;  but  what  is  your  way  ? ' ' 

"This  is  my  way,"  said  Margaret,  and  bending 
over,  as  the  German  sat  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  she 
kissed  him,  saying,  "as  yet  no  one  knows." 


THE  BED  CITY  385 

"I  am  answered,  Pearl,  and  now  listen.  This 
morning  I  met  Mr.  Randolph  and  Mr.  Hamilton 
with  the  President.  That  was  best  before  seeing 
you.  Mr.  Randolph  was  silent  while  I  told  the 
general  plainly  the  story  of  your  duel.  Ach,  but 
he  has  the  trick  of  silence !  A  good  one,  too.  "When 
I  had  ended,  he  said,  'I  am  to  be  pardoned,  sir,  if  I 
ask  who  in  turn  will  vouch  for  you  as  a  witness  ? ' 

"Then  I  said,  'With  my  apologies  to  these  gentle 
men,  may  I  be  allowed  a  brief  interview  alone  with 
your   Excellency,   or,   rather,   may   I   ask   also   for 
Mr.  Hamilton  to  be  present?'     'With  your  permis 
sion,  Mr.  Randolph/  the  President  said,  and  showed 
us  into  a  small  side  room.    There  I  told  him." 
"Told  him  what?"  asked  Margaret. 
"Your  husband  may  tell  you,  my  dear,  when  you 
are  married.     I  may  as  well  permit  it,  whether  I 
like  it  or  not.    You  would  get  it  out  of  him." 

"I  should,"  she  said;  "but— it  is  dreadful  to 
have  to  wait." 

"On  our  return,  his  Excellency  said,  'Mr.  Ran 
dolph,  I  am  satisfied  as  regards  the  correctness  of 
the  Vicomte  de  Courval's  account  of  Mr.  Car- 
teaux's  treachery  and  of  the  vicomte 's  ignorance  of 
his  errand.  Mr.  Gouverneur  sends  me  by  Mr. 
Schmidt  a  letter  concerning  the  despatch.' 

' '  Then  Randolph  asked  quietly :  '  Did  he  see  it,  sir  ? ' 
"  'He  knows  that  the  vicomte  delivered  a  packet 
of  papers  to  the  Jean  Bart.' 

"  'And  without  receipt  for  them  or  other  evi 
dence  ? ' 
"'Yes.    It  so  seems/ 


386  THE  EED  CITY 


(  (     C 


'Then  I  regret  to  say  that  all  we  have  heard 
appears  to  me,  sir,  to  leave  the  matter  where  it 
was/ 

'Not  quite.  Mr.  Fauchet  is  out  of  office  and 
about  to  go  home.  Carteaux,  as  Mr.  Hamilton  can 
tell  you,  refused  to  be  questioned,  and  has  sailed  for 
France.  Adet,  the  new  minister,  will  not  urge  the 
matter.  You  must  pardon  me,  but,  as  it  appears  to 
me,  an  injustice  has  been  done.' 

"Randolph  said  testily:  'It  is  by  no  means  clear 
to  me,  and  until  we  hear  of  that  despatch,  it  never 
will  be/ 

"This  smileless  old  man  said,  'I  am  not  free  to 
speak  of  what  Mr.  Schmidt  has  confided  to  me,  but 
it  satisfies  me  fully.'  Then  he  waited  to  hear  what 
Randolph  would  say/' 

"And  he?"  said  Rene,  impatient. 
"Oh,   naturally  enough   he  was  puzzled   and   I 
thought  annoyed,  but  said,  'I  presume,  Mr.  Presi 
dent,  it  is  meant  that  I  ought  to  offer  this  young 
man  the  position  he  forfeited  ? ' 

"  'That,  sir,'  said  the  President,  'is  for  you  to 
decide. ' 

"Then  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  can  be  as  foxy  as  Jef 
ferson,  said  in  a  careless  way,  'I  think  I  should  wait 
a  little.' 

"The  moment  he  said  that,  I  knew  what  would 
happen.  Randolph  said,  'Pardon  me,  Mr.  Hamil 
ton,  I  prefer  to  conduct  the  affairs  of  my  depart 
ment  without  aid.'  They  love  not  one  another, 
these  two.  'I  am  of  the  President's  opinion.  I 
shall  write  to  the  Vicomte  de  Courval.' 


THE  EED  CITY  387 

"Mr.  Hamilton  did  seem  to  me  to  amuse  himself. 
He  smiled  a  little  and  said :  '  A  pity  to  be  in  such  a 
hurry.  Time  will  make  it  all  clearer/  Randolph 
made  no  reply.  You  will  hear  from  him  to-morrow. ' ' 

"I  shall  not  accept, "  said  Rene. 

1  'Yes,  you  must.  It  is  a  full  answer  to  all  criti 
cism,  and  after  what  the  President  has  said,  you 
cannot  refuse." 

"Mr.  Schmidt  is  right,  Rene,"  said  Margaret. 
"Thou  must  take  the  place." 

"Good,  wise  little  counselor!"  said  the  German. 
"He  will  write  you  a  courteous  note,  Rene.  He  has 
had,  as  Hamilton  says,  enough  differences  with  the 
chief  to  make  him  willing  to  oblige  him  in  a  minor 
matter.  You  must  take  it. ' ' 

At  last,  it  being  so  agreed,  Schmidt  went  in  to  see 
Mrs.  Swanwick  and  to  relieve  her  as  concerned  a 
part,  at  least,  of  her  troubles.  The  rest  he  would 
talk  about  later. 

Even  the  vicomtesse  was  so  good  as  to  be  pleased, 
and  the  evening  meal  was  more  gay  than  usual. 

The  next  morning  Rene  received  the  folio  wing  note : 

DEAR  SIR  :     My  opinion  in  regard  to  the  matter  under 
discussion  of  late  having  been  modified  somewhat,  and  the 
President  favoring  my  action,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  offer 
you  the  chance  to  return  to  the  office. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

Your  obedient  friend  and  servant, 

EDMUND  RANDOLPH. 

Schmidt  laughed  as  he  read  it.  "He  does  not 
like  it.  The  dose  is  bitter.  He  thinks  you  will  say 


388  THE  EED  CITY 

no.  But  you  will  write  simply,  and  accept  with 
pleasure. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  see.  I  shall  do  as  you  say."  He  sent  a 
simple  note  of  acceptance.  A  visit  to  the  office  of 
state  settled  the  matter,  and  on  the  day  but  one 
after  receipt  of  the  letter,  Rene  was  well  pleased  to 
be  once  more  at  his  desk  and  busy. 

Meanwhile  Schmidt  had  been  occupied  with  long 
letters  to  Germany  and  his  affairs  in  the  city,  but 
in  the  evening  of  the  12th  of  August,  they  found 
time  for  one  of  their  old  talks. 

* '  This  matter  of  yours,  and  in  fact  of  mine,  Rene, 
does  not  fully  satisfy  me.  I  still  hear  much  about  it, 
and  always  of  that  infernal  despatch." 

"It  does  not  satisfy  me,  sir." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  will  have  to.  Long 
ago  that  despatch  must  be  in  Paris;  but  Mr.  Mon 
roe,  our  minister,  could  learn  nothing  about  it. 
And  so  you  two  young  folks  have  arranged  your 
affairs.  I  can  tell  you  that  Miss  Gainor  will  be 
sorry  to  have  had  no  hand  in  this  business,  and 
Uncle  Josiah,  too." 

"That  is  droll  enough.  I  am  glad  to  have 
pleased  somebody.  We  have  thought  it  better  not 
as  yet  to  speak  of  it." 

"Have  you  told  your  mother,  Rene?  You  may 
be  sure  that  she  will  know,  or  guess  at  the  truth,  and 
resent  being  left  in  the  dark. ' ' 

"That  is  true;  but  you  may  very  well  imagine 
that  I  dread  what  she  will  say  of  Margaret.  We 
have  never  had  a  serious  difference,  and  now  it  is  to 
come.  I  shall  talk  to  her  to-morrow." 


THE  EED  CITY  389 

"No,  now.  Get  it  over,  sir.  Get  it  over.  I  must 
go  home  again  soon,  and  I  want  to  see  you  married. 
Go  now  at  once  and  get  it  over." 

' '  I  suppose  that  will  be  as  well. ' ' 

He  went  slowly  up  the  winding  staircase  which 
was  so  remarkable  a  feature  of  the  finer  Georgian 
houses.  Suddenly  he  was  aware  in  the  darkness  of 
Margaret  on  the  landing  above  him. 

' '  Don 't  stop  me, ' '  she  said. 

"What  is  wrong?"  he  asked. 

"Everything.  I  told  thee  thy  mother  would 
know.  She  sent  for  me.  I  went.  She  was  cruel- 
cruel — hard." 

"What,  dear,  did  she  say?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  thee.  She  insulted  me  and  my 
mother.  Ah,  but  she  said— no,  I  shall  not  tell  thee, 
nor  mother.  She  sent  for  me,  and  I  went.  I  had  to 
tell  her.  Oh,  I  said  that— that— I  told  her— I  do 
not  know  what  I  told  her. ' '  She  was  on  the  edge  of 
her  first  almost  uncontrollable  loss  of  self-govern 
ment.  It  alarmed  her  pride,  and  at  once  becoming 
calm,  she  added,  "I  told  her  that  it  was  useless  to 
talk  to  me,  to  say  that  it  must  end,  that  thou  wouldst 
obey  her.  I— I  just  laughed;  yes,  I  did.  And  I 
told  her  she  did  not  yet  know  her  own  son— and  — 
that  some  day  she  would  regret  what  she  had  said 
to  me,  and,  Rene,  of  my  mother.  I  do  not  care — " 

"But  I  care,  Margaret.  I  was  this  moment  on 
my  way  to  tell  her. ' ' 

"Let  me  pass.  I  hope  thou  art  worth  what  I  have 
endured  for  thy  sake.  Let  me  pass."  He  went  by 
her,  troubled  and  aware  that  he  too  needed  to  keep 


390  THE  BED  CITY 

himself  in  hand.  When  he  entered  his  mother's 
room  he  found  her  seated  by  the  feeble  candle-light, 
a  rose  of  the  never-finished  embroidery  growing 
under  her  thin,  skilful  fingers. 

For  her  a  disagreeable  matter  had  been  decisively 
dealt  with  and  put  aside;  no  trace  of  emotion  be 
trayed  her  self-satisfaction  at  having  finally  settled 
an  unpleasant  but  necessary  business. 

In  the  sweet,  low  voice  which  seemed  so  out  of  rela 
tion  to  her  severity  of  aspect,  she  said:  "Sit  down. 
I  have  been  left  to  learn  from  the  young  woman  of 
this  entanglement.  I  should  have  heard  it  from 
you,  or  never  have  had  to  hear  it  at  all. ' ' 

"Mother,  I  have  been  in  very  great  trouble  of 
late.  That  my  disaster  did  trouble  you  so  little  has 
been  painful  to  me.  But  this  is  far  worse.  I 
waited  to  feel  at  ease  about  the  other  affair  before 
I  spoke  to  you  of  my  intention  to  marry  Miss  Swan- 
wick.  I  was  on  my  way  just  now  when  I  met  her  on 
the  stair.  I  desire  to  say,  mother— '' 

She  broke  in :  "  It  is  useless  to  discuss  this  absurd 
business.  It  is  over.  I  have  said  so  to  the  young 
woman.  That  ends  it.  Now  kiss  me.  I  wish  to  go 
to  bed." 

"No/'  he  said;  "this  does  not  end  it." 

"Indeed,  we  shall  see— a  quite  ordinary  Quaker 
girl  and  a  designing  mother.  It  is  all  clear  enough. 
Neither  of  you  with  any  means,  not  a  louis  of  dot — 
a  nice  wife  to  take  home.  Oh,  I  have  expressed  my 
self  fully,  and  it  was  needed.  She  presumed  to  con 
tradict  me.  del!  I  had  to  be  plain." 

"So  it  seems ;  but  as  I  count  for  something,  I  beg 


THE  BED  CITY  391 

leave  to  say,  maman,  that  I  mean  to  marry  Margaret 
Swanwick. ' ' 

"You,  the  Vicomte  de  Courval!" 
He  laughed  bitterly.    ''What  are  titles  here,  or  in 
France,  to-day  ?     There  are  a  dozen  starving  nobles 
in  this  city,  exiles  and  homeless.     As  to  money,  I 
have   charge   of   Mr.    Schmidt's   affairs,    and   shall 
have.    I  am  not  without  business  capacity/' 
' '  Business ! ' '  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  no  matter,  mother.    I  pray  you  to  be  rea 
sonable,  and  to  remember  what  these  people  have 
done  for  us :  in  health  no  end  of  kindness ;  in  sick 
ness—mother,  I  owe  to  them  my  life." 
"They  were  paid,  I  presume." 
"Mon    Dieu,    mother!    how    can    you    say    such 
things?    It  is  incredible." 

'Rene,  do  you  really  mean  to  disobey  me?" 
"I  hope  not  to  have  to  do  so." 
"If  you  persist,  you  will  have  to.     I  shall  never 
consent,  never." 

"Then,  mother,— and  you  force  me  to  say  it,— 
whether  you  agree  to  it  or  not,  I  marry  Margaret. 
You  were  hard  to  her  and  cruel." 
"No;  I  was  only  just  and  wise." 
"I  do  not  see  it;  but  rest  assured  that  neither 
man  nor  woman  shall  part  us.    Oh,  I  have  too  much 
of  you  in  me  to  be  controlled  in  a  matter  where  both 
love  and  honor  are  concerned. ' ' 

"Then    you    mean    to    make    this    mesalliance 
against  my  will." 

E  mean,  and  that  soon,  to  marry  the  woman  I 
think  worthy  of  any  man's  love  and  respect." 


392  THE  EED  CITY 

1  'She  is  as  bad  as  you— two  obstinate  fools!  I 
am  sorry  for  your  children." 

1  'Mother!" 

"Well,  and  what  now?" 

"It  is  useless  to  resist.  It  will  do  no  good.  It 
only  hurts  me.  Did  your  people  want  you  to  marry 
Jean  de  Courval,  my  father?" 

"No." 

"You  did.    Was  it  a  mesalliance?" 

"They  said  so." 

"You  set  me  a  good  example.  I  shall  do  as  you 
did,  if,  after  this,  her  pride  does  not  come  in  the 
way." 

"Her  pride,  indeed!  Will  it  be  to-morrow,  the 
marriage  1 ' ' 

"Ah,  dear  mother,  why  will  you  hurt  me  so?" 

"I  know  you  as  if  it  were  myself.  I  take  the 
lesser  of  two  evils."  And  to  his  amazement,  she 
said,  "Send  the  girl  up  to  me." 

"If  she  will  come." 

"Come?  Of  course  she  will  come."  He  shook 
his  head  and  left  her,  but  before  he  was  out  of  the 
room,  her  busy  hands  were  again  on  the  embroid 
ery-frame. 

"No,  I  will  not  go,"  said  Margaret  when  he  de 
livered  his  message. 

"For  my  sake,  dear,"  said  Rene,  and  at  last,  re 
luctant  and  still  angry,  Margaret  went  up-stairs. 

"Come  in,"  said  madame;  "you  have  kept  me 
waiting."  The  girl  stood  still  at  the  open  door. 

' '  Do  not  stand  there,  child.  Come  here  and  sit  down. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Margaret,  "I  shall  stand." 


THE  EED  CITY  393 

"As  you  please,  Mademoiselle.  My  son  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  an  act  of  folly.  I  yield  because  I 
must.  He  is  obstinate,  as  you  will  some  day  dis 
cover  to  your  cost.  I  cannot  say  I  am  satisfied,  but 
as  you  are  to  be  my  daughter,  I  shall  say  no  more. 
You  may  kiss  me.  I  shall  feel  better  about  it  in  a 
few  years,  perhaps." 

Never,  I  suppose,  was  Margaret's  power  of  self- 
command  more  sorely  tried.  She  bent  over,  lifted 
the  hand  of  the  vicomtesse  from  the  embroidery, 
and  kissed  it,  saying,  "Thou  art  Rene's  mother, 
Madame,"  and,  turning,  left  the  room. 

Rene  was  impatiently  walking  in  the  hall  when 
Margaret  came  down  the  stair  from  this  brief  inter 
view.  She  was  flushed  and  still  had  in  her  eyes  the 
light  of  battle.  "I  have  done  as  you  desired.  I 
cannot  talk  any  more.  I  have  had  all  I  can  stand. 
No,  I  shall  not  kiss  thee.  My  kisses  are  spoilt  for 
to-night."  Then  she  laughed  as  she  went  up  the 
broad  stairway,  and,  leaning  over  the  rail,  cried: 
"There  will  be  two  for  to-morrow.  They  will  keep. 
Good  night." 

The  vicomtesse  she  left  was  no  better  pleased,  and 
knew  that  she  had  had  the  worst  of  the  skirmish. 

"I  hate  it.  I  hate  it,"  she  said,  "but  that  was 
well  done  of  the  maid.  Where  did  she  get  her  fine 
ways?"  She  was  aware,  as  Rene  had  said  in  some 
wrath,  that  she  could  not  insult  these  kind  people 
and  continue  to  eat  their  bread.  The  dark  lady  with 
the  wan,  ascetic  face,  as  of  a  saint  of  many  fasts, 
could  abide  poverty  and  accept  bad  diet,  but  never 
theless  did  like  very  well  the  things  which  make  life 

25 


394  THE  BED  CITY 

pleasant,  and  had  been  more  than  comfortable  amid 
the  good  fare  and  faultless  cleanliness  of  the  Quaker 
house. 

She  quite  well  understood  that  the  matter  could 
not  remain  in  the  position  in  which  she  had  left  it. 
She  had  given  up  too  easily ;  but  now  she  must  take 
the  consequences.  Therefore  it  was  that  the  next 
day  after  breakfast  she  said  to  Margaret,  "I  desire 
to  talk  to  you  a  little/' 

"  Certainly,  Madame.  "Will  the  withdrawing- 
room  answer?" 

"Yes,  here  or  there."  Margaret  closed  the  door 
as  she  followed  the  vicomtesse,  and  after  the  manner 
of  her  day  stood  while  the  elder  woman  sat  very 
upright  in  the  high-backed  chair  prophetically  de 
signed  for  her  figure  and  the  occasion." 

' '  Pray  be  seated, ' '  she  said.  * '  I  have  had  a  white 
night,  Mademoiselle,  if  you  know  what  that  is.  I 
have  been  sleepless."  If  this  filled  Margaret  with 
pity,  I  much  doubt.  "I  have  had  to  elect  whether 
I  quarrel  with  my  son  or  with  myself.  I  choose  the 
latter,  and  shall  say  no  more  than  this — I  am  too 
straightforward  to  avoid  meeting  face  to  face  the 
hardships  of  life." 

"Bless  me,  am  I  the  hardship?"  thought  Mar 
garet,  her  attitude  of  defiant  pride  somewhat  modi 
fied  by  assistant  sense  of  the  comic. 

"I  shall  say  only  this:  I  have  always  liked  you. 
Whether  I  shall  ever  love  you  or  not,  I  do  not  know. 
I  have  never  had  room  in  my  heart  for  more  than 
one  love.  God  has  so  made  me,"  which  the  young 
woman  thought  did  comfortably  and  oddly  shift  re- 


THE  BED  CITY  395 

sponsibility,  and  thus  further  aided  to  restore  her 
good  humor. 

"We  shall  be  friends,  Margaret."  She  rose  as 
she  spoke,  and  setting  her  hands  on  Margaret's 
shoulders  as  she  too  stood,  said :  * '  You  are  beautiful, 
child,  and  you  have  very  good  manners.  There  are 
things  to  be  desired,  the  want  of  which  I  much 
regret;  otherwise—  She  felt  as  if  she  had  gone 
far  enough.  "Were  these  otherwise,  I  should  have 
been  satisfied."  Then  she  kissed  her  coldly  on  the 
forehead. 

Margaret  said,  ' '  I  shall  try,  Madame,  to  be  a  good 
daughter, ' '  and,  falling  back,  courtesied,  and  left  the 
tall  woman  to  her  meditations. 

Madame  de  Courval  and  Mary  Swanwick  knew 
that  soon  or  late  what  their  children  had  settled 
they  too  must  discuss.  Neither  woman  desired  it, 
the  vicomtesse  aware  that  she  might  say  more  than 
she  meant  to  say,  the  Quaker  matron  in  equal  dread 
lest  things  might  be  said  which  would  make  the 
future  difficult.  Mary  Swanwick  usually  went  with 
high  courage  to  meet  the  calamities  of  life,  and  just 
at  present  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  thus  classified 
the  stern  puritan  dame.  But  now  she  would  wait  no 
longer,  and  having  so  decided  on  Saturday,  she 
chose  Sunday  morning,  when— and  she  smiled— the 
vicomtesse  having  been  to  Gloria  Dei  and  she  her 
self  to  Friends'  meeting,  both  should  be  in  a  frame 
of  mind  for  what  she  felt  might  prove  a  trial  of 
good  temper. 

Accordingly,  having  heard  the  gentle  Friend 
Howell  discourse,  and  bent  in  silent  prayer  for 


396  THE  EED  CITY 

patience  and  charity,  she  came  home  and  waited 
until  from  the  window  of  Schmidt's  room  she  saw 
the  tall,  black  figure  approach. 

She  went  out  to  the  hall  and  let  in  Madame  de 
Courval,  saying:  "I  have  waited  for  thee.  Wilt 
thou  come  into  the  withdrawing-room  ?  I  have  that 
to  say  which  may  no  longer  be  delayed/' 

"I  myself  had  meant  to  talk  with  you  of  this 
unfortunate  matter.  It  is  as  well  to  have  it  over." 
So  saying  she  followed  her  hostess.  Both  women 
sat  upright  in  the  high-backed  chairs,  the  neat, 
gray-clad  Quaker  lady,  tranquil  and  rosy ;  the  black 
figure  of  the  Huguenot  dame,  sallow,  with  grave, 
unmoved  features,  a  strange  contrast. 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  you,  Madame  Swan- 
wick." 

"It  is  simple.  I  have  long  seen  that  there  was  a 
growth  of  attachment  between  our  children.  I  did 
not— I  do  not  approve  it." 

"Indeed,"  said  Madame  de  Courval,  haughtily. 
What  was  this  woman  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the 
Vicomte  de  Courval? 

"I  have  done  my  best  to  keep  them  apart.  I 
spoke  to  Margaret,  and  sent  her  away  again  and 
again  as  thou  knowest.  It  has  been  in  vain,  and 
now  having  learned  that  thou  hast  accepted  a  con 
dition  of  things  we  do  neither  of  us  like,  I  have 
thought  it  well  to  have  speech  of  thee." 

"  I  do  not  like  it,  and  I  never  shall.  I  have,  how 
ever,  yielded  a  reluctant  consent.  I  cannot  quarrel 
with  my  only  child ;  but  I  shall  never  like  it— never. ' ' 

"Never  is  a  long  day." 


THE  BED  CITY  397 

•'I  am  not  of  those  who  change.  There  is  no 
fitness  in  it,  none.  My  son  is  of  a  class  far  above  her. 
They  are  both  poor."  A  sharp  reply  to  the  refer 
ence  to  social  distinctions  was  on  Mary  Swanwick's 
tongue.  She  resisted  the  temptation,  and  said 
quietly : 

"Margaret  will  not  always  be  without  means;  my 
uncle  will  give  her,  on  his  death,  all  he  has;  and  as 
to  class,  Madame,  the  good  Master  to  whom  we 
prayed  this  morning,  must — ' ' 

"It  is  not  a  matter  for  discussion,"  broke  in  the 
elder  woman. 

"No;  I  agree  with  thee.  It  is  not,  but— were  it 
not  as  well  that  two  Christian  gentlewomen  should 
accept  the  inevitable  without  reserve  and  not  make 
their  children  unhappy?" 

"Gentlewomen!" 

Mary  Swanwick  reddened.  "I  said  so.  We,  too, 
are  not  without  the  pride  of  race  you  value.  A  poor 
business,  but," — and  she  looked  straight  at  the 
vicomtesse,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  retort 
—"we  are  not  given  to  making  much  of  it  in 
speech. ' ' 

Madame  de  Courval  had  at  times  entertained 
Margaret  with  some  of  the  grim  annals  of  her 
father's  people.  Now,  feeling  the  thrust,  and  not 
liking  it,  or  that  she  had  lost  her  temper,  she  shifted 
her  ground,  and  being  at  heart  what  her  hostess 
described  as  a  gentlewoman,  said  stiffly :  "  I  beg  par 
don;  I  spoke  without  thought."  At  this  moment 
Margaret  entered,  and  seeing  the  signals  of  dis 
composure  on  both  faces,  said:  "Oh,  you  two  dear 


398  THE  BED  CITY 

people  whom  I  love  and  want  to  love  more  and  more, 
you  are  talking  of  me  and  of  Rene.'  Shall  I  give 
him  up,  Madame,  and  send  him  about  his  business. 

"Do,  dear/'  laughed  her  mother,  relieved. 

There  was  no  mirth  to  be  had  out  of  it  for 
Yvonne  de  Courval. 

"  It  is  not  a  matter  for  jesting, ' '  she  said.  "  He  is 
quite  too  like  me  to  be  other  than  obstinate,  and 
this,  like  what  else  of  the  trials  God  has  seen  fit  to 
send,  is  to  be  endured.  He  is  too  like  me  to 
change. ' ' 

"Then,"   said  Margaret,   gaily,   "thou  must  be 

like  him." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  the  vicomtesse,  with  a  note 
of  melancholy  in  her  tones. 

"Then  if  thou  art  like  him,  thou  wilt  have  to  love 
me,"  cried  Margaret.  The  mother  smiled  at  this 
pretty  logic,  but  the  Huguenot  dame  sat  up  on  her 
chair,  resentful  of  the  affectionate  familiarity  of  the 
girl's  gaiety. 

"Your  mother  and  I  have  talked,  and  what  use 
is  it?  I  shall  try  to  care  for  you,  and  love  may 
come.  But  I  could  have  wished— 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Margaret.  "Please  to  say  no 
more.  Thou  will  only  hurt  me." 

"I  remain  of  the  same  opinion;  I  am  not  of  a 
nature  which  allows  me  to  change  without  reason." 

"And  as  for  me,"  said  Mrs.  Swanwick,  smiling 
as  she  rose,  "I  yield  when  I  must." 

"I,  too,"  said  the  dark  lady;  "but  to  yield  out 
wardly  is  not  to  give  up  my  opinions,  nor  is  it  easy 
or  agreeable  to  do  so.  We  will  speak  of  it  another 


THE  RED  CITY  399 

time,  Madame  Swanwick."  But  they  never  did, 
and  so  this  interview  ended  with  no  very  good  re 
sult,  except  to  make  both  women  feel  that  further 
talk  would  be  of  no  use,  and  that  the  matter  was 
settled. 

As  the  two  mothers  rose,  Miss  Gainor  entered, 
large,  smiling,  fresh  from  Christ  Church.  Quick  to 
observe,  she  saw  that  something  unusual  had  oc 
curred,  and  hesitated  between  curiosity  and  the  re 
serve  which  good  manners  exacted. 

"Good  morning/'  she  said.  "I  heard  that  Mr. 
Schmidt  had  come  back,  and  so  I  came  at  once  from 
church  to  get  all  the  news  from  Europe  for  the 
Penns,  where  I  go  to  dine." 

''Europe  is  unimportant,"  cried  Margaret,  dis 
regarding  a  warning  look  from  her  mother.  "I  am 
engaged  to  be  married  to  Monsieur  de  Courval— 
and— everybody— is  pleased.  Dear  Aunt  Gainor,  I 
like  it  myself." 

"I  at  least  am  to  be  excepted,"  said  the  vi- 
comtesse,  "as  Mademoiselle  knows.  I  beg  at  present 
to  be  saved  further  discussion.  May  I  be  ex 
cused—" 

"It  seems,  Madame,"  returned  Miss  Wynne, 
smiling,  "to  have  got  past  the  need  for  discussion. 
I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart. ' ' 

"Mon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  the  vicomtesse,  forgetful 
of  her  Huguenot  training,  and  swept  by  Miss 
Gainer's  most  formal  courtesy  and  was  gone. 

"Dear  child,"  cried  Mistress  Wynne,  as  she 
caught  Margaret  in  her  arms,  "I  am  glad  as  never 
before.  The  vicomte  has  gone  back  to  the  service 


400  THE  BED  CITY 

and — you  are  to  marry — oh,  the  man  of  my  choice. 
The  poor  vicomtesse,  alas !  Where  is  the  vicomte  1 ' ' 

"He  is  out  just  now.  We  did  mean  to  tell  thee 
this  evening." 

"Ah!  I  am  glad  it  came  earlier,  this  good  news. 
May  I  tell  them  at  the  governor's?" 

"I  may  as  well  say  yes,"  cried  Margaret. 
"Thou  wouldst  be  sure  to  tell." 

"I  should,"  said  Gainor. 


XXVII 

BOTH  mothers  had  accepted  a  situation  which 
neither  entirely  liked;  but  the  atmosphere  was 
cleared,  and  the  people  most  concerned  were  well 
satisfied  and  happy.  Miss  Gainor  joyously  distrib 
uted  the  news.  Gay  cousins  called,  and  again  the 
late  summer  afternoons  saw  in  the  garden  many 
friends  who  had  sturdily  stood  by  De  Courval  in 
his  day  of  discredit. 

If  Randolph  was  cool  to  him,  others  were  not, 
and  the  office  work  and  the  treaty  were  interesting, 
while  in  France  affairs  were  better,  and  the  reign  of 
blood  had  passed  and  gone. 

The  warm  days  of  August  went  by,  and  De  Cour 
val  's  boat  drifted  on  the  river  at  evening,  where  he  lay 
and  talked  to  Margaret,  or  listened,  a  well-contented 
man.  There  were  parties  in  the  country,  dinners 
with  the  Peters  at  Belmont,  or  at  historic  Cliveden. 
Schmidt,  more  grave  than  usual,  avoided  these  fes 
tivities,  and  gave  himself  to  lonely  rides,  or  to  long 
evenings  on  the  river  when  De  Courval  was  absent 
or  otherwise  occupied,  as  was  commonly  the  case. 

When  late  one  afternoon  he  said  to  Rene,  ' '  I  want 
you  to  lend  me  Margaret  for  an  hour,"  she  cried, 
laughing,  "Indeed,  I  lend  myself;  and  I  make  my 
lord  vicomte  obey,  as  is  fitting  before  marriage.  I 
have  not  yet  promised  to  obey  after  it,  and  I  am 
at  thy  service,  Friend  Schmidt. ' ' 

401 


402  THE  BED  CITY 

Rene  laughed  and  said,  "I  am  not  left  much 
choice,"  whereupon  Schmidt  and  Margaret  went 
down  to  the  shore,  and  soon  their  boat  lay  quiet  far 
out  on  the  river. 

"They  are  talking,"  said  the  young  lover.  "I 
wonder  what  about." 

In  fact  they  had  not  exchanged  even  the  small 
current  coin  of  conventional  talk;  both  were  silent 
until  Schmidt  laid  down  his  oars,  and  the  boat  si 
lently  drifted  upward  with  the  tide.  It  was  the 
woman  who  spoke  first. 

' '  Ah,  what  a  true  friend  thou  hast  been ! ' ' 

"Yes,  I  have  that  way  a  talent.  Why  did  you 
bring  me  out  here  to  flatter  me?" 

"I  did  think  it  was  thou  proposed  it;  but  I  do 
wish  to  talk  with  thee.  My  mother  is  not  well 
pleased  because  the  other  mother  is  ill  pleased.  I 
do  want  every  one  I  love  to  feel  that  all  is  well  with 
Rene  and  me,  and  that  the  love  I  give  is  good  for 
him." 

"It  is  well  for  you  and  for  him,  my  child,  and 
as  for  that  grim  fortress  of  a  woman,  she  will  live 
to  be  jealous  of  your  mother  and  of  Rene.  An  east 
wind  of  a  woman.  She  will  come  at  last  to  love 
you,  Pearl." 

"Ah,  dost  thou  really  think  so?" 

"Yes." 

"And  thou  art  pleased.  We  thought  thou  wert 
grave  of  late  and  less — less  gay." 

"I  am  more  than  pleased,  Margaret.  I  am  not 
sad,  but  only  grieved  over  the  coming  loss  out  of  my 
life  of  simple  days  and  those  I  love,  because  soon, 


THE  BED  CITY  403 

very  soon,  I  go  away  to  a  life  of  courts  and  idle 
ceremonies,  and  perhaps  of  strife  and  war." 

For  a  moment  or  two  neither  spoke.  The  fading 
light  seemed  somehow  to  the  girl  to  fit  her  sense  of 
the  gravity  of  this  announcement  of  a  vast  loss  out 
of  life.  Her  eyes  filled  as  she  looked  up. 

"Oh,  why  dost  thou  go?  Is  not  love  and  rever 
ence  and  hearts  that  thank  thee— oh,  are  not  these 
enough  ?  Why  dost  thou  go  ? ' ' 

"You,  dear,  who  know  me  will  understand  when 
I  answer  with  one  word— duty." 

"I  am  answered,"  she  said,  but  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks. 

"Rene  will  some  day  tell  you  more,  indeed,  all; 
and  you  will  know  why  I  must  leave  you."  Then, 
saying  no  more,  he  took  up  the  oars  and  pulled  into 
the  shore.  Rene  drew  up  the  boat. 

"\Yill  you  go  out  with  me  now,  Margaret?" 
"Not  this   evening,   Rene,"   she   said,   and  went 
slowly  up  to  the  house. 

On  one  of  these  later  August  days,  Mr.  Ham 
mond,  the  English  minister,  at  his  house  in  the 
country  was  pleased,  being  about  to  return  home, 
to  ask  the  company  of  Mr.  Wolcott  of  the  Treasury. 
There  were  no  other  guests,  and  after  dinner  the 
minister,  to  add  zest  to  his  dessert,  handed  to  AYol- 
cott  the  now  famous  intercepted  Despatch  No.  10, 
sent  back  by  Lord  Grenville  after  its  capture,  to 
make  still  further  mischief.  Having  been  told  the 
story  of  the  wanderings  of  this  fateful  document, 
the  Secretary  read  it  with  amazement,  and  under 
stood  at  once  that  it  was  meant  by  Hammond  to  in- 


404  THE  BED  CITY 

jure  Randolph,  whose  dislike  of  the  Jay  treaty  and 
what  it  yielded  to  England  was  well  known  in  Lon 
don.  Much  disturbed  by  what  he  gathered,  Wolcott 
took  away  the  long  document,  agreeing  to  give  a 
certified  copy  to  Hammond,  who,  having  been  re 
called,  was  well  pleased  to  wing  this  Parthian  arrow. 

The  next  day  Wolcott  showed  it  to  his  colleagues, 
Pickering  and  the  Attorney-General.  As  it  seemed 
to  them  serious,  they  sent  an  urgent  message  to  the 
President,  which  brought  back  the  weary  man  from 
his  rest  at  Mount  Vernon.  On  his  return,  the 
President,  despite  Randolph's  desire  for  further 
delay,  called  a  cabinet  meeting,  and  with  a  strong 
remonstrance  against  the  provision  clause  which 
yielded  the  hated  rights  of  search,  decided  to  ratify 
the  treaty  with  England. 

The  next  day  he  was  shown  the  long-lost,  inter 
cepted  Despatch  No.  10. 

Greatly  disturbed,  he  waited  for  several  days, 
and  then  again  called  together  his  advisers,  naming 
for  Randolph  a  half -hour  later. 

On  this,  the  19th  of  August,  De  Courval,  being  at 
his  desk,  was  asked  to  see  an  express  rider  who  had 
come  with  a  report  of  Indian  outrages  on  the  fron 
tier.  The  Secretary  of  State  having  gone,  as  he 
learned,  to  a  cabinet  meeting,  De  Courval  made 
haste  to  find  him,  being  well  aware  of  the  grave 
import  of  the  news  thus  brought.  Arriving  at  the 
house  of  the  President,  he  was  shown  as  usual  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  sat  down  to  wait  among  a 
gay  party  of  little  ones  who  were  practising  the 
minuet  with  the  young  Custis  children  under  the 


THE  BED  CITY  405 

tuition  of  a  sad-looking,  old  emigre  gentleman. 
The  small  ladies  courtesied  to  the  new-comer,  the 
marquis  bowed.  The  violin  began  again,  and  Rene 
sat  still,  amused. 

Meanwhile  in  the  room  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
hall,  "Washington  discussed  with  Pickering  and  Oli 
ver  "Wolcott  the  fateful,  intercepted  despatch.  A 
little  later  Randolph  entered  the  hall,  and  desiring 
De  Courval  to  wait  with  his  papers,  joined  the  cabi 
net  meeting. 

As  he  entered,  the  President  rose  and  said,  "Mr. 
Randolph,  a  matter  has  been  brought  to  my  know 
ledge  in  which  you  are  deeply  concerned. "  He 
spoke  with  great  formality,  and  handing  him  Fau- 
chet's  despatch,  added,  "Here  is  a  letter  which  I 
desire  you  to  read  and  make  such  explanation  in 
regard  to  it  as  you  choose." 

Randolph,  amazed,  ran  his  eye  over  the  long  re 
port  of  Fauchet  to  his  home  office,  the  other  secre 
taries  watching  him  in  silence.  He  flushed  with 
sudden  anger  as  he  read  on,  while  no  one  spoke,  and 
the  President  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  This 
is  what  the  Secretary  of  State  saw  in  Fauchet 's 
despatch : 

Mr.  Randolph  came  to  see  me  with  an  air  of  great  eager 
ness  just  before  the  proclamation  was  made  in  regard  to 
the  excise  insurrection,  and  made  to  me  overtures  of  which 
I  have  given  you  an  account  in  my  despatches  No.  6  and 
No.  3.  Thus  with  some  thousands  of  dollars  the  French 
Republic  could  have  decided  on  war  or  peace.  Thus  the 
consciences  of  the  pretended  patriots  of  America  have  al 
ready  their  prices  [  tarif]. 


406  .     THE  BED  CITY 

Then  followed  abuse  of  Hamilton  and  warm  praise 
of  Jefferson  and  Madison. 

"The  despatches  No.  6  and  No.  3  are  not  here," 
said  the  Secretary.  Again  he  read  on.  Then  at  last, 
looking  up,  he  said,  "If  I  may  be  permitted  to  re 
tain  this  letter  a  short  time,  I  shall  be  able  to  answer 
everything  in  it  in  a  satisfactory  manner."  He 
made  no  denial  of  its  charges. 

The  President  said:  "Very  well.  You  may  wish 
at  present,  sir,  to  step  into  the  back  room  and 
further  consider  the  matter."  He  desired  to  do  so, 
the  President  saying  that  he  himself  wished  mean 
while  to  talk  of  it  with  his  other  advisers.  Mr. 
Randolph,  assenting,  retired,  and  in  half  an  hour 
returned.  What  passed  in  this  interval  between  the 
chief  and  his  secretaries  no  one  knows,  nor  what 
went  on  in  the  mind  of  Washington.  Mr.  Randolph 
finally  left  the  meeting,  saying,  "Your  Excellency 
will  hear  from  me."  As  he  was  passing  the  door  of 
the  parlor  De  Courval  came  forward  to  meet  him 
and  said,  "These  papers  are  of  moment,  sir.  They 
have  just  come."  The  violin  ceased,  the  marquis 
bowed.  The  Secretary  saluted  the  small  dames  and 
said  hastily:  "I  cannot  consider  these  papers  at 
present.  I  must  go.  Give  them  to  the  President." 
Upon  this  he  went  away,  leaving  De  Courval  sur 
prised  at  the  agitation  of  his  manner. 

In  a  few  moments  Mr.  Wolcott  also  came  out, 
leaving  the  office  door  open.  Meanwhile  De  Courval 
waited,  as  he  had  been  desired  to  do,  until  the  Presi 
dent  should  be  disengaged. 

The    violin    went    on,    the    small    figures,    as    he 


THE  BED  CITY  407 

watched  them,  moved  in  the  slow  measures  of  the 
dance.  Then  during  a  pause  one  little  dame  cour- 
tesied  to  him,  and  the  old  violinist  asked  would  Mon 
sieur  le  Vicomte  walk  a  minuet  with  Miss  Langdon. 
De  Courval,  rising,  bowed  to  the  anticipative  part 
ner,  and  said,  "No;  the  President  may  want  me." 
And  again  the  low  notes  of  the  violin  set  the  small 
puppets  in  motion.  Of  a  sudden,  heard  through  the 
open  door  across  the  hall,  came  a  voice  resonant 
with  anger.  It  was  Washington  who  spoke.  ' '  Why, 
Colonel  Pickering,  did  he  say  nothing  of  moment? 
He  was  my  friend  Peyton  Randolph's  nephew  and 
adopted  son,  my  aide,  my  Secretary.  I  made  him 
Attorney-General,  Secretary  of  State.  I  would  have 
listened,  sir.  Never  before  have  I  allowed  friend 
ship  to  influence  me  in  an  appointment."  The 
voice  fell ;  he  heard  no  more,  but  through  it  all  the 
notes  of  the  violin  went  on,  a  strange  accompani 
ment,  while  the  children  moved  in  the  ceremonious 
measures  of  the  minuet,  and  Rene  crossed  the  room 
to  escape  from  what  he  was  not  meant  to  hear.  A 
full  half  hour  wrent  by  while  De  Courval  sat  amazed 
at  the  words  he  had  overheard.  At  last  the  Secre 
tary  of  War,  entering  the  hall,  passed  out  of  the 
house. 

Then  De  Courval  asked  a  servant  in  the  gray  and 
red  of  the  Washington  livery  to  take  the  papers  to 
the  President.  Hearing  him,  Washington,  coming 
to  the  door,  said :  ' '  Come  in,  sir.  I  will  see  you. ' ' 
The  face  De  Courval  saw  had  regained  its  usual 
serenity.  "Pray  be  seated."  He  took  the  papers 
and  deliberately  considered  them.  "Yes,  they  are 


408  THE  RED  CITY 

of  importance.  You  did  well  to  wait.  I  thank 
you."  Then  smiling  kindly  he  said,  "Here  has 
been  a  matter  which  concerns  you.  The  despatch 
you  were  charged  with  taking  was  captured  at  sea 
by  an  English  frigate  and  sent  to  us  by  Mr.  Ham 
mond,  the  British  minister.  It  has  been  nine 
months  on  the  way.  I  never,  sir,  had  the  least 
doubt  of  your  honor,  and  permit  me  now  to  express 
my  pleasure.  At  present  this  affair  of  the  despatch 
must  remain  a  secret.  It  will  not  be  so  very  long. 
Permit  me  also  to  congratulate  you  on  your  new  tie 
to  this  country.  Mistress  Wynne  has  told  Mrs. 
Washington  of  it.  Will  you  do  me  the  honor  to 
dine  with  us  at  four  to-morrow?  At  four." 

Coming  out  of  the  room  with  De  Courval,  he 
paused  in  the  hall,  having  said  his  gracious  words. 
The  violin  ceased.  The  little  ladies  in  brocades  and 
slippers  came  to  the  drawing-room  door,  a  pretty 
dozen  or  so,  Miss  Langdon,  Miss  Biddle,  Miss  Mor 
ris,  and  the  Custis  children.  They  courtesied  low, 
waiting  expectant.  Like  most  shy  men,  Washington 
was  most  at  ease  with  children,  loving  what  fate  had 
denied  him.  He  was  now  and  then  pleased,  as  they 
knew,  to  walk  with  one  of  them  the  slow  measure  of 
the  minuet,  and  then  to  lift  up  and  kiss  his  small 
partner  in  the  dance.  Now  looking  down  on  them 
from  his  great  height  he  said:  "No,"  with  a  sad 
smile  at  their  respectful  appeal— "no,  not  to-day, 
children.  Not  to-day.  Good-by,  Vicomte."  As 
the  servant  held  the  door  open,  Rene  looked  back 
and  saw  the  tall  figure,  the  wreck  of  former  vigor, 
go  wearily  up  the  broad  staircase. 


*  Not  to-day,  children,  not  to-day ' ' 


THE  RED  CITY  411 

"What  has  so  troubled  him?"  thought  De  Cour- 
val.  "What  is  this  that  Edmund  Eandolph  has 
done?"  Standing  on  the  outer  step  and  taking  off 
his  hat,  he  murmured,  "My  God,  I  thank  thee!" 
He  heard  faintly  through  the  open  window  as  he 
walked  away  the  final  notes  of  the  violin  and  the 
laughter  of  childhood  as  the  lesson  ended. 

It  was  only  a  little  way,  some  three  blocks,  from 
the  house  of  the  President  to  the  State  Department, 
where,  at  287  High  Street,  half  a  dozen  clerks  now 
made  up  the  slender  staff.  De  Courval  walked 
slowly  to  the  office,  and  setting  his  business  in  order, 
got  leave  from  his  immediate  superior  to  be  absent 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

As  he  went  out,  Mr.  Randolph  passed  in.  De 
Courval  raised  his  hat,  and  said,  "Good  morning, 
sir."  The  Secretary  turned  back.  In  his  hour  of 
humiliation  and  evident  distress  his  natural  cour 
tesy  did  not  desert  him. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  in  ready  French,  "the  de 
spatch  which  you  sent  on  its  way  has  returned.  I 
desire  to  ask  you  to  forget  the  injustice  I  did  you." 
He  was  about  to  add,  ' '  My  time  to  suffer  has  come. ' ' 
He  refrained. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  De  Courval;  "you  could 
hardly  have  done  otherwise  than  you  did."  The 
two  men  bowed,  and  parted  to  meet  no  more. 
"What  does  it  all  mean?"  thought  the  young  man. 
Thus  set  free,  he  would  at  once  have  gone  home  to 
tell  of  the  end  of  the  troubles  this  wandering  paper 
had  made  for  him.  But  Margaret  was  at  Merion 
for  the  day,  and  others  might  wait.  He  wished  for 

26 


412  THE  BED  CITY 

an  hour  to  be  alone,  and  felt  as  he  walked  eastward 
the  exaltation  which  was  natural  to  a  man  sensitive 
as  to  the  slightest  reflection  on  his  honor.  Thus 
surely  set  at  ease,  with  the  slow  pace  of  the  thought 
ful,  he  moved  along  what  we  now  call  Market  Street. 
Already  at  this  time  it  had  its  country  carts  and 
wide  market  sheds,  where  Schmidt  liked  to  come, 
pleased  with  the  colors  of  the  fruit  and  vegetables. 
Rene  heard  again  with  a  smile  the  street-cries, 
1  i  Calamus !  sweet  calamus ! ' '  and  ' '  Peaches  ripe ! 
ripe ! "  as  on  his  first  sad  day  in  the  city. 

Aimlessly  wandering,  he  turned  northward  into 
Mulberry  Street,  with  its  Doric  portals,  and  seeing 
the  many  Friends  coming  out  of  their  meeting 
house,  was  reminded  that  it  was  Wednesday.  "I 
should  like,"  he  thought,  "to  have  said  my  thanks 
with  them."  Moving  westward  at  Delaware  Fifth 
Street,  he  entered  the  burial-ground  of  Christ 
Church,  and  for  a  while  in  serious  mood  read  what 
the  living  had  said  of  the  dead. 

1  'Well,  Rene,"  said  Schmidt,  behind  him,  "which 
are  to  be  preferred,  those  underneath  or  those  above 
ground  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not  know.  You  startled  me.  To-day,  for 
me,  those  above  ground." 

"When  a  man  has  had  both  experiences  he  may 
be  able  to  answer — or  not.  I  once  told  you  I  liked 
to  come  here.  This  is  my  last  call  upon  these  dead, 
some  of  whom  I  loved.  What  fetched  you  h:ther?" 

"Oh,  I  was  lightly  wandering  with  good  news," 
and  he  told  him  of  the  lost  Despatch  No.  10,  and 
that  it  was  to  be  for  the  time  a  secret. 


THE  EED  CITY  413 

"At  last!"  said  Schmidt.  "I  knew  it  would 
come.  The  world  may  congratulate  you.  I  am  not 
altogether  grieved  that  you  have  been  through  this 
trial.  I,  too,  have  my  news.  Edmund  Randolph 
has  resigned  within  an  hour  or  so.  Mr.  Wolcott  has 
just  heard  it  from  the  President.  Oh,  the  wild  con 
fusion  of  things !  If  you  had  not  sent  that  despatch 
on  its  way,  Randolph  would  not  have  fallen.  A 
fatal  paper.  Let  us  go  home,  Rene/' 

"But  how,  sir,  does  it  concern  Mr.  Randolph?" 

"Pickering  has  talked  of  it  to  Bingham,  whom  I 
have  seen  just  now,  and  I  am  unjier  the  impression 
that  Fauchet's  despatch  charged  Randolph  with 
asking  for  money.  It  was  rather  vague,  as  I  heard 
it." 

"I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Rene. 

"A  queer  story,"  said  Schmidt.  "A  wild  Ja 
cobin's  despatch  ruins  his  Secretary  for  life,  dis 
graces  for  a  time  an  emigre  noble,  turns  out  a 
cabinet  minister— what  fancy  could  have  invented 
a  stranger  tale  ?  Come,  let  us  leave  these  untroubled 
dead." 

Not  until  December  of  that  year,  1795,  did  Ran 
dolph's  pamphlet,  known  as  his  "Vindication,"  ap 
pear.  This  miserable  business  concerns  us  here 
solely  as  it  affected  the  lives  of  my  characters.  It 
has  excited  much  controversy,  and  even  to  this  day, 
despite  Fauchet's  explanations  to  Randolph  and  the 
knowledge  we  now  have  of  the  papers  mentioned  as 
No.  3  and  No.  6,  it  remains  in  a  condition  to  puzzle 
the  most  astute  historian.  Certainly  few  things  in 
diplomatic  annals  are  more  interesting  than  the 


414  THE  EED  CITY 

adventures  of  Despatch  No.  10.  The  verdict  of 
"not  proven"  has  been  the  conclusion  reached  by 
some  writers,  while  despite  Randolph's  failure  to 
deny  the  charges  at  once,  as  he  did  later,  it  is  possi 
ble  that  Fauchet  misunderstood  him  or  lied,  al 
though  why  he  should  have  done  so  is  difficult  to 
comprehend. 

The  despatch,  as  we  have  seen,  affected  more  per 
sons  than  the  unfortunate  Secretary.  Dr.  Chovet 
left  the  city  in  haste  when  he  heard  of  Schmidt's 
return,  and  Aunt  Gainor  lamented  as  among  the 
not  minor  consequences  the  demise  of  her  two  gods 
and  the  blue  china  mandarin.  She  was  in  some 
degree  comforted  by  the  difficult  business  of  Mar 
garet's  marriage  outfit,  for  Schmidt,  overjoyed  at 
the  complete  justification  of  De  Courval,  insisted 
that  there  must  be  no  delay,  since  he  himself  was 
obliged  to  return  to  Germany  in  October. 

Mrs.  Swanwick  would  as  usual  accept  no  money 
help,  and  the  preparations  should  be  simple,  she 
said,  nor  was  it  a  day  of  vulgar  extravagance  in 
bridal  presents.  Margaret,  willing  enough  to  delay, 
and  happy  in  the  present,  was  slowly  making  her 
way  to  what  heart  there  was  in  the  Huguenot  dame. 
Margaret  at  her  joyous  best  was  hard  to  resist,  and 
now  made  love  to  the  vicomtesse,  and,  ingenuously 
ready  to  serve,  wooed  her  well  and  wisely  in  the 
interest  of  peace. 

What  Madame  de  Courval  most  liked  about  Mar 
garet  was  a  voice  as  low  and  as  melodious  in  its 
changes  as  her  own,  so  that,  as  Schmidt  said,  "It  is 
music,  and  what  it  says  is  of  the  lesser  moment." 


THE  BED  CITY  415 

Thus  one  day  at  evening  as  they  sat  on  the  porch, 
Margaret  murmured  in  the  ear  of  the  dark  lady : 
"I  am  to  be  married  in  a  few  days;  wilt  not  thou 
make  me  a  little  wedding  gift  ? ' ' 

"My  dear  Margaret, "  cried  Rene,  laughing,  "the 
jewels  all  went  in  England,  and  except  a  son  of 
small  value,  what  can  my  mother  give  you?" 

"But,  him  I  have  already,"  cried  Margaret. 
"What  I  want,  madame  has— oh,  and  to  spare." 

"Well,  and  what  is  it  I  am  to  give?"  said 
madame,  coldly. 

' '  A  little  love, ' '  she  whispered. 

' l  Ah,  do  you  say  such  things  to  Rene  ? ' ' 

"No,  never.  It  is  he  who  says  them  to  me.  Oh, 
I  am  waiting.  A  lapful  I  want  of  thee,"  and  she 
held  up  her  skirts  to  receive  the  gift. 

1 '  How  saucy  thou  art, ' '  said  Mrs.  Swanwick. 

"It  is  no  affair  of  thine,  Friend  Swanwick, ' '  cried 
the  Pearl.  "I  wait,  Madame." 

"I  must  borrow  of  my  son,"  said  the  vicomtesse. 
' '  It  shall  be  ready  at  thy  wedding.  Thou  wilt  have 
to  wait," 

"Ah,"  said  Rene,  "we  can  wait.  Come,  let  us 
gather  some  peaches,  Margaret,"  and  as  they  went 
down  the  garden,  he  added :  ' '  My  mother  said  '  thou ' 
to  you.  Did  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  I  heard.  She  was  giving  me  what  I  asked, 
and  would  not  say  so." 

"Yes,  it  was  not  like  her,"  said  the  vicomte,  well 
pleased. 

The  September  days  went  by,  and  to  all  outward 
appearance  Madame  de  Courval  accepted  with  no 


416  THE  KED  CITY 

further  protest  what  it  was  out  of  her  power  to  con 
trol.  Uncle  Josiah  insisted  on  settling  upon  Mar 
garet  a  modest  income,  and  found  it  the  harder  to 
do  so  because,  except  Mistress  Gainor  Wynne,  no 
one  was  disposed  to  differ  with  him.  That  lady  told 
him  it  was  shabby.  To  which  he  replied  that  there 
would  be  the  more  when  he  died. 

"Get  a  permanent  ground-rent  on  your  grave/' 
said  Gainor,  ' '  or  never  will  you  lie  at  rest. ' ' 

"It  is  our  last  ride,"  said  Schmidt,  on  October 
the  first,  of  this,  the  last  year  of  my  story.  They 
rode  out  through  the  busy  Red  City  and  up  the 
Ridge  Road,  along  which  General  Green  led  the  left 
wing  of  the  army  to  the  fight  at  Germantown,  and 
so  to  the  Wissahickon  Creek,  where,  leaving  their 
horses  at  an  inn,  they  walked  up  the  stream. 

"Ach,  lieber  Himmel,  this  is  well,"  said  Schmidt 
as  they  sat  down  on  a  bed  of  moss  above  the  water. 
"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "more  about  the  President. 
Oh,  more ;  you  were  too  brief. ' '  He  insisted  eagerly. 
"I  like  him  with  the  little  ones.  And,  ah,  that 
tragedy  of  fallen  ambition  and  all  the  while  the 
violin  music  and  the  dance.  It  is  said  that  some 
times  he  is  pleased  to  walk  a  minuet  with  one  of 
these  small  maids,  and  then  will  kiss  the  fortunate 
little  partner." 

' '  He  did  not  that  day ;  he  told  them  he  could  not. 
He  was  sad  about  Randolph." 

"When  they  are  old,  they  will  tell  of  it,  Rene." 
And,  indeed,  two  of  these  children  lived  to  be  great- 
grandmothers,  and  kissing  their  grandchildren's 
children,  two  of  whom  live  to-day  in  the  Red  City, 


THE  KED  CITY  417 

bade  them  remember  that  the  lips  which  kissed  them 
had  often  been  kissed  by  Washington. 

"It  is  a  good  sign  of  a  man  to  love  these  little 
ones/'  said  Schmidt.  "What  think  you,  Rene? 
Was  Randolph  guilty!" 

"I  do  not  think  so,  sir.  Fauchet  was  a  quite  irre 
sponsible  person;  but  what  that  silent  old  man, 
Washington,  finally  believed,  I  should  like  to  know. 
I  fear  that  he  thought  Randolph  had  been  anything 
but  loyal  to  his  chief." 

For  a  little  while  the  German  seemed  lost  in 
thought.  Then  he  said:  "You  will  have  my  horses 
and  books  and  the  pistols  and  my  rapier.  My  life 
will,  I  hope,  need  them  no  more.  I  mean  the 
weapons;  but  who  can  be  sure  of  that?  Your  own 
life  will  find  a  use  for  them,  if  I  be  not  mistaken. 
When  I  am  gone,  Mr.  Justice  Wilson  will  call  on 
you,  and  do  not  let  the  Pearl  refuse  what  I  shall 
leave  for  her.  I  have  lived  two  lives.  One  of  my 
lives  ends  here  in  this  free  land.  Mr.  Wilson  has, 
as  it  were,  my  will.  In  Germany  I  shall  have  far 
more  than  I  shall  ever  need.  Keep  my  secret. 
There  are,  there  were,  good  reasons  for  it." 

"It  is  safe  with  me." 

' '  Ah,  the  dear  life  I  have  had  here,  the  freedom  of 
the  wilderness,  the  loves,  the  simple  joys!"  As  he 
spoke,  he  gathered  and  let  fall  the  autumn  leaves 
strewn  thickly  on  the  forest  floor.  "We  shall  meet 
no  more  on  earth,  Rene,  and  I  have  loved  you  as 
few  men  love. ' '  Again  he  was  long  silent. 

"I  go  from  these  wonder  woods  to  the  autumn  of 
a  life  with  duties  and,  alas!  naught  else.  Some- 


418  THE  KED  CITY 

times  I  shall  write  to  you ;  and,  Rene,  you  will  speak 
of  me  to  your  children. " 

The  younger  man  said  little  in  reply.  He,  too, 
was  deeply  moved,  and  sorrowful  as  never  before. 
As  they  sat,  Schmidt  put  his  hand  on  Rene's  shoul 
der.  "May  the  good  God  bless  and  keep  you  and 
yours  through  length  of  honorable  days !  Let  us 
go.  Never  before  did  the  autumn  woodlands  seem 
to  me  sad.  Let  us  go. ' '  He  cast  down  as  he  rose  the 
last  handful  of  the  red  and  gold  leaves  of  the  maple. 

They  walked  down  the  creek,  still  beautiful  to 
day,  and  rode  home  in  silence  amid  the  slow  down- 
drift  of  the  early  days  of  the  fall. 

In  the  house  Margaret  met  them  joyous.  "Oh, 
Rene,  a  letter  of  congratulation  to  me!  Think  of 
it — to  me,  sir,  from  General  Washington !  And  one 
to  thee ! ' '  These  letters  were  to  decide  in  far-away 
after  days  a  famous  French  law-suit. 

THE  sun  shone  bright  on  the  little  party  which 
passed  among  the  graves  into  the  modest  Gloria  Dei, 
the  church  of  the  Swedes.  Here  were  the  many 
kinsfolk;  and  Washington's  secretary,  Colonel  Lear, 
Alexander  Hamilton  and  Gouverneur  Morris,  with 
Binghams  and  Morrises;  Whartons  and  Biddies, 
the  forefathers  of  many  lines  of  men  since  famous 
in  our  annals,  whether  of  war  or  peace.  Women 
there  were  also.  Mistress  Gainor  in  the  front  pew 
with  Mrs.  Swanwick  and  Lady  Washington,  as  many 
called  her,  and  the  gay  Federalist  dames,  who  smiled 
approval  of  Margaret  in  her  radiant  loveliness. 
Schmidt,  grave  and  stately  in  dark  velvet,  gave 


THE  BED  CITY  419 

away  the  bride,  and  the  good  Swedish  rector,  the 
Reverend  Nicholas  Cullin,  read  the  service  of  the 
church. 

Then  at  last  they  passed  into  the  vestry,  and,  as 
Margaret  decreed,  all  must  sign  the  marriage-certifi 
cate  after  the  manner  of  Friends.  De  Courval  wrote 
his  name,  and  the  Pearl,  "Margaret  Swan  wick," 
whereat  arose  merriment  and  an  erasure  when, 
blushing,  she  wrote,  "De  Courval."  Next  came 
Schmidt.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  wrote 
"Johan  Graf  von  Ehrenstein,"  to  the  surprise  of 
the  curious  many  who  followed,  signing  with  laugh 
ter  and  chatter  of  young  tongues.  Meanwhile  the 
German  gentleman,  unnoticed,  passed  out  of  the 
vestry,  and  thus  out  of  my  story. 

"What  with  all  these  signatures,  it  does  look, 
Vicomte, "  said  young  Mr.  Morris,  "like  the  famous 
Declaration  of  Independence." 

"Humph!"  growled  Josiah  Langstroth,  "if  thee 
thinks,  young  man,  that  it  is  a  declaration  of  inde 
pendence,  thee  is  very  much  mistaken." 

"Not  I,"  said  Rene,  laughing;  and  they  went  out 
to  where  Mistress  Gainor's  landau  was  waiting,  and 
so  home  to  the  mother's  house. 

Here  was  a  note  from  Schmidt. 

DEAR  CHILDREN, 

To  say  good-by  is  more  than  I  will  to  bear.  God  bless 
you  both !  I  go  at  once. 

JOHAN  GRAF  VON  EHRENSTEIN.    . 

There  were  tears  in  the  Pearl's  eyes. 

"He  told  me  he  would  not  say  good-by.    And  is 


420  THE  BED  CITY 

that  his  real  name,  Rene  ?  No,  it  is  not ;  I  know  that 
much. ' ' 

Rene  smiled.  "Some  day,"  he  said,  "I  shall  tell 
you." 

In  a  few  minutes  came  his  honor,  Mr.  Justice 
Wilson,  saying :  ' '  I  feared  to  be  late.  Madame, ' '  to 
Margaret,  ' i  here  is  a  remembrance  for  you  from  our 
friend." 

"Oh,  open  it!"  she  cried.  "Ah,  if  only  he  were 
here!" 

There  was  a  card.  It  said,  "Within  is  my  kiss  of 
parting, ' '  and  as  she  stood  in  her  bridal  dress,  Rene 
fastened  the  necklace  of  great  pearls  about  her  neck, 
while  Madame  de  Courval  looked  on  in  wonder  at 
the  princely  gift. 

Then  the  Judge,  taking  them  aside  into  Schmidt's 
room,  said :  "  I  am  to  give  you,  Vicomte,  these  papers 
which  make  you  for  your  wife  the  trustee  of  our 
friend's  estate,  a  large  one,  as  you  may  know.  My 
congratulations,  Vicomtesse." 

"He  told  me!"  said  Margaret.  "He  told  me, 
Rene. ' '  She  was  too  moved  to  say  more. 

In  an  hour,  for  this  was  not  a  time  of  wedding 
breakfasts,  they  were  on  their  way  to  Cliveden,  which 
Chief-Justice  Chew  had  lent  for  their  honeymoon. 

So  ends  my  story,  and  thus  I  part  with  these,  the 
children  of  my  mind.  Many  of  them  lived,  and 
have  left  their  names  in  our  history ;  others,  perhaps 
even  more  real  to  me,  I  dismiss  with  regret,  to  be 
come  for  me,  as  time  runs  on,  but  remembered  phan 
toms  of  the  shadow  world  of  fiction. 


THE  BED  CITY  421 


L' envoi 

BEFORE  De  Courval  and  his  wife  returned  to  France, 
the  Directory  had  come  and  gone,  the  greatest  of 
soldiers  had  taken  on  the  rule,  and  the  grave  Hugue 
not  mother  had  gone  to  her  grave  in  Christ  Church 
yard. 

Mrs.  Swanwick  firmly  refused  to  leave  her  coun 
try.  ' '  Better,  far  better, ' '  she  said,  ' '  Margaret,  that 
thou  shouldst  be  without  me.  1  shall  live  to  see  thee 
again  and  the  children." 

In  after  years  in  Penn's  City  men  read  of  Napo 
leon's  soldier,  General  the  Comte  de  Courval  and  of 
the  American  beauty  at  the  Emperor's  court,  while 
over  their  Madeira  the  older  men  talked  of  the 
German  gentleman  who  had  been  so  long  among 
them,  and  passed  so  mysteriously  out  of  the  know 
ledge  of  all. 


r 


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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


NOV24 


FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


B0003ScUa7 


